Perfect Places
by dampish
Summary: (BOOK II) On the road and left with nowhere to go, Michael and his fellow survivors are forced northeast after the loss of a core figure in their lives. Without a reason to hope or anywhere to call home, spirits are low and it seems as though everything comes full circle. Whether that be a blessing, or a curse, Michael has yet to decide. (S5B-)
1. One: Prologue - Ms

**Chapter One - Prologue: Ms**

_"I've pillowed you so many times this week,_

_close eyes, open, close again, forget and fall asleep,_

_the dark sees dark…"_

* * *

_Breathe._

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out…_

_Put one foot in front of the other. That's it. Walk. _

_Right. _

_Left._

_Right._

_Left… _

_You're doing great._

_Drink your water. Eat the food they give you. Rick says you're all going to Virginia. _

Never been to Virginia before.

_"He isn't talking."_

Don't feel like it.

_"He's responsive. That's enough."_

Is it?

_"And what about Maggie? You think she can make the trip?"_

_"... It's what Beth wanted. We all gotta make it."_

Beth.

* * *

He closed his eyes.

Opened them. Watched the road move through the window. It had been three days since leaving the city. They buried Beth in a clearing, in a group of woods somewhere. Gabriel said his words and they dropped her into the Earth and they covered her and that was it. Maggie cried. They left.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

It had been five days.

They left behind a fire truck. Glenn says they got it when the group separated; one half tried leaving for Washington, the other half stayed to get Carol, Beth and Michael.

Eugene lied. There is no cure. Bob was bitten, he was taken by the surviving Terminus cannibals and they ate his leg. Rick and some of the others slaughtered them in the church. Bob died there and they buried him in the graveyard.

Some of them crammed themselves into a box truck, the others split up in between an old blue station wagon and a van. Michael was in the box truck. It was hot and stuffy and uncomfortable, but he managed.

Why?

Didn't know.

Maggie was blank most of the time. Did she know why? Probably not.

Sometimes he felt blank, too.

They kept going.

* * *

Daryl hunted sometimes but Michael never went with him. Ten days went by since Atlanta. Since Grady. O'Donnell. Dawn. Beth. Flashes of metal and bullet holes and blood stayed in his mind, latched themselves onto the sides of his skull, but sometimes, _sometimes, _he found the words to talk.

Glenn.

Carol.

Carl.

Tara.

Noah.

Tyreese.

Maggie, once.

Michonne.

Rick.

Daryl didn't do much talking.

* * *

Some nights he got nightmares, other nights he was blessed with dreamless sleep. There was no in between. No dreams of lilacs or blue eyes or hair made of night sky.

The heat never let up. It hadn't rained in days. Yesterday, they stopped to bathe at a very shallow creek and split up into small groups. Glenn, Maggie, Noah, and Michael took one section of the water. The four of them stripped down to their underwear, kept some distance between them for modesty's sake. They had to share two bars of soap; one for Maggie and Glenn, the other went to Noah and Michael. The creek water was cold and felt sharp against Michael's skin but he let himself feel it. Let it soak into his pores, through his flesh and into his bones, and he welcomed it. But once, just once he glanced over; he saw Noah, shirtless and wet and despite the constant dull throb of hurt in his mind, Michael's belly did a flip. It was one of those things, those feelings that you don't do on purpose; he certainly didn't. Right after he looked back away, he was reminded of what he'd lost. That not even two weeks ago he'd watched as Beth's blood splattered all over the world in a violent, thunderous rainstorm. So he ran water over his face, finished cleaning as quickly as he could. Looked down to examine the skin on his midsection.

The stitches were still there. It was scabbed up in some places, healed up for the most part on the back side according to Carol two days ago, but the front was still healing. Red and puffy, angry and tender at the touch because they had nothing to fight against infection. Gauze bandages turned into napkins or paper towels or alcohol soaked t-shirt chunks tied down by fabric strips or duct tape.

He went back to the shore. Dried himself as much as he could, pulled on his jeans, socks, shoes. Waited for Glenn to come back so that he could help with Michael's makeshift bandages, and then he slipped on his shirt-a button up flannel turned into a vest. The heat made him cut away the sleeves a couple of days ago.

When they finished, when everyone was done and they gathered back at their vehicles, they left.

* * *

Days went by. They merged into each other, like water droplets gathering at the tip of a leaf. Sometimes Michael spoke, other times he didn't say a word. There was no point, really, not to him at least. At the halfway mark, Rick told them that, once they got there, if the place-Shirewilt Estates-was still standing, it could be perfect for them.

Did Michael really believe that, though? Could he? Would he let himself?

Maybe. He'd done it once before.

_And look how that turned out._

* * *

_"Scattered truths, bewildered beast boohoos, we have our weight: ten thousand ladybirds._

_All the vowels vow to guard your name, keep your estate clean, happy,_

_some things lie too deep for tears to well…"_


	2. Two: My Body is a Cage

**Chapter Two: My Body is a Cage**

"_My body is a cage,_

_that keeps me_

_from dancing with the one I love,_

_but my mind holds the key…"_

* * *

"Think we'll get to see the Washington Monument?"

"Is Richmond close to D.C.?"

"I don't think so. But we might pass it. It'd be cool to see, I guess…"

Michael wished he was better at talking.

_So talk._

"I saw it once a few years ago."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I visited my grandparents with my mom and my dad before my brother was born. They wanted to take us on a trip, and my grandmother lived there until her twenties, so… yeah."

_There._

"Didn't you say your grandmother was from Brazil, and that your grandparents lived in Hawaii?" Carl asked.

"Peru, I think. South America. And that was my dad's side. My mom's parents were full blooded white Americans, living the dream."

"Oh," Carl said. He shifted awkwardly (Michael didn't have the energy to undo that damage) and the roof under them creaked; old cars didn't make for the best watch posts but it was better than the dirt. Too many bugs to bite at them down there. "What's it like?"

"Big," Michael said. "Underwhelming. Like… it's this thing we're always learning about in school and it's supposed to be such a big part of American history, but... it's just a big statue in the end."

Carl mulled this over as he chewed on his bottom lip. Michael laid himself back on the roof; it groaned under his weight but he was probably too light to make a huge dent. Food had been scarce lately and most of it went to Carl and Judith. Michael didn't mind and tried his best to assure the others he was fine. Sometimes his stomach protested, giving out little rumbles or a whimper, but it was best to focus on something else. He did that a lot now.

"My mom and dad went to the grand canyon when I was a baby-well, they tried to. I got sick halfway there and they had to go back home."

Michael tried to smile, really. It probably came out as some kind of grimace but Carl wasn't paying attention.

"I'm sure they had a good time, anyways."

Carl smiled. "That's what my mom said."

"Boys?"

Carl looked over but Michael kept staring at the afternoon sky. It was a bit cloudy but Michael doubted it would rain. It'd been weeks since the last time any of them felt it on their skin and all the creeks and rivers were dried up by now.

"Yeah, dad?"

"We'll be leavin' soon. Just a few towns over and we're there," Rick said. From the corner of his eye, Michael could see him-Judith was propped on his hip and playing with a piece of plastic too large for her to try and swallow.

"Okay."

After a nod, and a glance at Michael, Rick walked away. Once he was gone, and when it was just the two of them, Carl joined Michael in laying on the roof of the car and watching the sky do nothing.

And as they did this, a part of Michael drifted away. Somewhere far, somewhere deep into a fog, where he'd been before but hadn't seen in a while. It's a hollowness in his chest that sent him there, that kept him sitting on a little loveseat until he was brought back into reality by someone saying his name.

"Yeah?"

"We're leaving now."

They leave.

* * *

There was walker gunk in Michael's axe. Crusted flesh, hair, a small shard of skull bone-it took a few tries for him to get it off, picking at it with a pen and wiping the rest away on a dirtied shirt, but after a minute it was as clean as it could get. For now, Michael silently hoped as he tossed the shirt down.

They were ten miles away from Wiltshire, parked and settled around a farmhouse missing a part of its roof. Rick said this is where they would wait while he took a small group with Noah to scan out the area.

"I'm coming, too," Michael said after a brief moment of consideration, giving no room for protest as he took a seat in the very back of the van. Glenn was there, too, fumbling around with a CD booklet. He glanced up at Michael slowly, then opened his mouth like he was about to say something. Then he looks back at the booklet, silent.

They asked Michael if he really wanted to go. What Michael figures they really meant to ask was if he could handle it-doing something productive, something other than existing and moving when told is? He probably could. Probably would. He said so, even if they didn't believe him-Michael was sure they didn't. And they had good reason; Maggie cried at least twice a day and Daryl didn't talk much, but when he did it was more or less just some kind of grunt. Michael guessed his connection to Beth worried them.

As if he were important enough to worry about.

Rick asked him again, just to make sure. Michael told him yes.

* * *

"How far out?"

"Five miles."

"Hey, Carol?"

"_I'm here._"

"We're halfway there. Just wanted to check the range."

"_Everybody's holding tight. We've made it 500 miles. Maybe this can be the easy part."_

"Gotta think we're due. … Give us twenty minutes to check in."

"_We don't hear from you, we'll come looking."_

"Copy that."

Noah was nervous.

Michael could feel it in the air; his bouncing leg, eyes going from surface to surface. "I've been wanting to tell you something," he told Tyreese. His voice was shaky.

"What's that?"

"The trade."

_Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Don't talk about it._

"It was the right play."

_I don't care._

"It worked. It _did _work."

_Really?_

"Just… something else happened after."

_Yeah, Noah, Beth fucking died._

"It went the way it had to," Tyreese says. "The way it was always going to."

Michael took the CD booklet from where it sat between Glenn and him. There was a Willie Nelson album in there so he took it, looked at the cover and pretended it was so fascinating he couldn't focus on anything else.

"I never wanted to kill anybody before."

"I've wanted that."

_God, what an amazing CD._

"But… it just made it so I didn't see anything except what I wanted. I wasn't _facing _it."

"Facing what?"

"What happened, what's going on. My dad always told Sasha and me that it was our duty as citizens of the world to keep up with the news. When I was little and I was in his car, there were always those stories on the radio."

They passed an old, rusted barn with its roof caved in and a chimney that looked so close to toppling over Michael almost felt sorry for it. Sometimes he thought he was like that chimney. Just waiting for something to push him too hard.

"Something happens a thousand miles away or down the block. Some kind of horror I couldn't even wrap my head around. But… he didn't change the channel. He didn't turn it off. He just kept listenin'. To face it. Keeping your eyes open. My dad always called that 'paying the high cost of livin'."

Michael was tired of paying.

"I lost my dad in Atlanta," Noah said. "I think he would've liked yours."

Tyreese smiled.

"Still got a mom and a couple of twin brothers. … I hope."

Still shaky, Michael saw. Uncertain. Just like the rest of them, really. He figured they just weren't admitting it.

"I hope so, too."

Noah said they had two more miles, and Rick nodded before telling Tyreese to pull into the woods. "We'll walk the rest of the way." When Noah said they won't have to, Rick replied, "Just in case."

Willie Nelson shattered in Michael's hands.

* * *

Tyreese pulled into a small gathering of trees, where a box truck and a station wagon collided with each other at some point or another. Both drivers were still in their seats, roused from their dormancy by the search party's arrival.

"This is good," Rick told them. "Through the trees, it might just look like part of the wreck."

The station wagon snarled, and everyone stared at it until Noah said, "It's this way."

It was a quiet walk through the forest. The only sounds came from cicadas and the group's footsteps and even if none of them had their weapons drawn, it was beyond clear that they were on edge. Michonne kept hold of her katana's hilt and Rick had his hand on his Python. Maybe this was why Noah was nervous, Michael figured. Maybe he just wanted to get home. Michael knew the feeling.

"Your people do this?"

Ahead, thick metal wires were strung around trees in an erratic pattern. "Wanted to," Noah explained. "They must have."

Rick drew his machete. Silently, they climbed through the wires, until Noah cried out when one sliced his forehead. "You okay?" Rick asked. Noah nodded after wiping away a trail of blood.

"Yeah. Let's go."

They continued. Minutes later, red-brown brick walls cane into view. Rick halted and by default so did the rest of them. He turned to Noah. "They have spotters? Snipers?"

"We built a perch on a truck? Sometimes it's out front."

Glenn went forward and Michael followed. There was a concrete sign that read "SHIREWILT" in big letters. Nobody could sight a spotter as far as they could see.

"Not today," Glenn says.

They went onto a road that lead into the community, passing scattered roadkill and pieces of a grandfather clock laying across the pavement. Noah sped up, limping to the front gates, until he was there and pushing himself at the metal bars. He listened for something. A small bang could be heard some distance away.

"You hear that?"

Nothing.

"Ty," Michael murmured, adjusting the bow slung over his shoulder. "Lift me up?"

The two of them walked over to a spot just beside the front gate; Tyreese got down on his knees and Michael climbed him like a tree trunk, moving from Tyreese to the gate itself. When he was finally up and could see past the top of the wall, Michael squinted against the sunlight.

There was nothing.

A handful of walkers shambled aimlessly through the streets. Personal belongings, toys, furniture-it was all discarded and thrown about like a storm had raged through. Some houses had scorch marks, some partially burned down, one with only its foundation remaining. There were bodies everywhere, most of them charred to the bones.

Michael looked back at the others, avoiding Noah's eyes, then shook his head. There was a short moment when the realization of another lost possibility sank into them all, hiding in a cloud of silence, before Noah forced himself over the wall. Michael and the others followed. He wished he could say there was something more than tired defeat in them. It's a feeling he'd gotten used to and he briefly thought that maybe it should stay that way.

Noah grunted, almost falling as he landed on the grass, but corrected his balance and moved forward as Michael landed _almost _gracefully on the other side of the wall. Rick and Glenn followed, then Michonne and Tyreese, and before any of them could stop him Noah was running further into the destruction. It was hard to ignore the carnage as they ran after him; the burnt bodies, charred grass, entrails spilled over the once-beautiful community. Whatever happened here was something Michael wanted nothing to do with.

Noah finally collapsed in the middle of an intersection. He was crying, sobbing, clutching his head in between his arms and pulling his knees up to his chest. Tyreese bent down to comfort him, telling him, "You're gonna be with us now."

Walkers snarled from down the road. Michonne watched them, an exhausted look in her eyes, before she drew her katana. "I'll get 'em."

"I'm sorry, Noah," Rick said, voice coarse. He crouched down. "I truly am. … We should see if there's anything we can use and head back."

_What is there to use?_ Michael wanted to ask. _Knitting needles, snow globes, remainders of a world that just got worse as time went by? _

"Then what?" Michonne asked. Her voice was sharp. Rick didn't have time to say anything before the walkers got louder as they neared. Michonne turned to face them. "They see us."

Michael glanced down at Noah. He was still on the ground, still crying even though his sobs had died down a bit. A part of Michael wanted to sit down beside him but in the end Michael thought it would be useless. It was starting to feel like it was always useless.

"We can make a quick sweep," Glenn spoke aloud. Tyreese told the rest of them that he'd stay with Noah.

A walker got too close so Michael changed the grip on his climbing axe.

"Carol, you copy?"

"_We're here._"

Its knee was weak enough for Michael to break bone with a swift kick. The walker collapsed but it was still upright, snapping its jaws wildly, and a swift swing of Michael's axe stopped it from moving forever.

"We made it. … It's gone."

* * *

Their sweep didn't do much.

Most of the houses that hadn't burned down were locked, and those that weren't had been picked through already. At a house with an open garage, Michael bent down to grab an old pocket knife as glass shattered behind him.

"Clean shirt."

"We'll make it."

"_We will._"

Michael let the knife slip out of his hand and into a garbage back (used for collecting useful things, and still almost entirely empty) before moving on. Deeper into the garage, Michael rummaged through moldy clothing in a laundry basket until he heard, "I saw that woman, Dawn."

And his blood went cold.

"She didn't mean to do it. I knew it. I saw it… But I wanted to kill her. I remember, I just wondered if it even mattered, one way or another. Didn't have a thing to do with Beth."

_It had everything to do with her. _

"I don't know if I thought it would still be here. But Beth _wanted _to get him here. She wanted to get him back home. This was for her."

Rick paused when Michael left the garage.

"And it could have been for us, too."

Michael can remember the days after, when he usually sat alone, away from the others. Maggie cried a lot and he just… existed. Angry. Upset. Numb. So many feelings, all of them strong and painful and oh so vivid, but none of them told him that putting a bullet through Dawn's eye was wrong.

"Beth wanted a lot of things," Michael said, before moving to the house across the street.

* * *

The door was unlocked.

Inside, it was almost pristine, other than a layer of dust that covered everything. It looked like a regular home; a dining table, a living room with a couch and a loveseat and a recliner, an entertainment center with a flat screen TV. A glass coffee table with items scattered about the surface. There were a few paintings on the walls and large pictures of a family of three; a mother, a teenage daughter and a preteen son. They looked happy.

The kitchen was a completely different story and Michael knew it as soon as he saw blood on the floor.

What remained of the mother was scattered across the checkered tile. Her legs were hacked off and thrown haphazardly across the kitchen and her arms were where her legs should be. There was a hole in her face where her nose should have been and a slash across her throat.

Moving into the hallway Michael could see the daughter, pinned to the wall with a fire poker through her chest. A knife stuck out of her throat and her hand, chopped off, sat in her lap. Michael ended her before she had the chance to notice him.

Something clawed at a door.

Floorboards creaked under Michael's steps as I moved to stand in front of it. There was a rasp that he could hear, a weak little snarl that almost had Michael leaving that god forsaken house. But he didn't. Instead, he opened the door and watched as the preteen, reanimated and bloody, stumbled through and tried snapping brittle jaws at him. It was instinct that had Michael kill him. His body fell to the ground in a heap and when his arms spilled out over the floor, Michael saw a slit on each of the boy's thin wrists. He blinked at them.

Rick found Michael crying over the boy's body a few minutes later.

"Michael? … Hey, Michael. It's me. It's Rick."

"He killed himself."

Rick knelt down and glanced over the boy's body. Michael still hadn't looked at him.

"He killed himself so that whatever killed his family couldn't get _him_, too."

There was a silence so thick that Michael almost choked on it. He could taste the acrid, bitter flavor of it, clawing its way down his throat, until Rick put a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon… we should go."

Rick pulled Michael off the floor and then they left. From the entryway, they gathered their almost-empty garbage bags, and before Michael could even try to get the bitter taste from his mouth they're out of the house with the door shut behind them.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

Michael shook his head. There was defeat in his eyes. "It's like that everywhere."

"It isn't." Rick came to a stop and turned to face Michael. "_Hey._ It isn't. It can't be. There's gotta be more places out there."

Michael nodded, only because he wanted the conversation to be over, and within a few more minutes the two of them were with Glenn and Michonne again.

"We could put some of the garage doors together against the break," Michonne told them. "Park a car against them until we can brick it back up."

Rick looked at the wall. "It can work," Michonne pushed.

"This place is surrounded by a forest. There's no sight lines. Whoever, whatever, could be on top of us without us even knowin' it. That's probably what happened."

"That's what happened to us," Glenn said. The group was walking towards the break itself, Michonne leading them.

"We could start taking down the trees. We use them to build the walls up. _Look._"

The four of them got there, where the demolished remains of the break sat covered in dust and blood, and when they walked through it all they could see was carnage.

Bodies, dozens of them, chopped apart and thrown all over the place. Arms, legs, midsections, but no heads. There was so much carnage that even Michonne was stunned into silence. They all were.

"It doesn't matter," Glenn finally said.

"What?"

"You said you wondered if it even mattered if you killed her or not."

_Dawn._

"It doesn't matter if you had done it, or if I had, or that Michael did. It doesn't matter."

Michael said nothing. There was nothing he could think of; just that bitter silence worming its way in.

"Washington."

They turned to Michonne.

"Eugene lied about a cure, but he thought of Washington for a reason."

"But he was lying."

"About the _cure. _But he did the math and realized that Washington was the place where there'd be a chance. We're close."

Rick sighed.

"What if there are people there? Huh? What if it's someplace that we can be safe? We're a hundred miles away. It's a _possibility. _It's a _chance. _Instead of just being _out here_. Instead of just _making_ it. Because right now, this is what making it _looks_ like." she pointed to the bodies strewn about. "Don't you want one more day with a chance?"

Walkers stumbled out of the underbrush.

"We should go," Rick said. Michonne looks defeated, but said nothing as they turned to go back into Shirewilt.

"It's a hundred miles away."

They paused.

"We should go to Washington."

Before anything can be said, someone was screaming their names and then they were rushing back into the fallen community.

A few houses down from where they just were, Noah was on the back porch fighting off two walkers. Rick and Glenn went for him while Michael and Michonne took out the ones drawn by the screams. Michonne tried taking the head off of one, but a rebar through its neck forced away her blade; she took it by the shoulders and shoved it away, giving Michael enough time to put his axe through its cranium.

"It's Tyreese!" Noah finally said once they'd cleared the dead.

"Where?"

"My house, he's been bit."

Then they're running, again, going as fast as they can following Noah, because Tyreese was bitten and if he was bitten that meant they only had a short amount of time to save him. The group ran through yards and leapt over fences and slashed at any walkers that got in their way. Michael did't know how long it took for them to get to Noah's home, but it was all the way across the estate and goddamn that. Rick went in first, then Michonne and Glenn and Michael was before Noah.

"In the back!" He yelled to them. They filed into a room with model airplanes and four bodies-no, three bodies, because one of them was Tyreese, leaning against a wall with a mangled arm and his face so pale it's no wonder Michael thought he was dead. But he was alive, breathing heavily, and Rick leaned down to pull out his bitten arm. Glenn held Tyreese back and before Michael could ask what they were doing, Michonne sliced through his arm. It all happened so fast that all Michael could do was grab a blanket when Rick ordered him to, hand it to him and watch him wrap it around Tyreese's stump. He and Glenn plucked Tyreese up off the floor and then they left, going the way they came, running for the chained up gates. There were walkers on the other side trying to push through.

Glenn broke the chain with a baseball bat. Walkers flooded inside but Glenn, Rick, Michonne and Michael fought them off, slicing through and gunning them down whenever they got too close. One snuck its way past Rick and was a few feet away from Noah and Tyreese before Michael twisted and shot it through the temple. When the dead were down, Rick and Glenn took a hold of Tyreese, got him off the ground and then they kept going.

"Michael!"

"Yeah?"

"Take my radio- tell Carol we're coming back with Tyreese-tell her to get- get supplies ready."

Michael reached over and fumbled with the radio on Rick's hip. It was hard to grab, considering Rick was moving every which way to get back to the cars, but eventually Michael clicked it off his belt and put it up to his mouth. "Carol? Carol, it's Michael."

"_Michael? What's going on?_"

"We're on our way back, Tyreese was bit and we had to take his arm. Rick says to get medical supplies ready."

The radio was quiet for a minute. "_Okay. We'll be here._"

Going back through the woods, the group took the same route, but when they were at the wires there was no time to go around. Michonne and Noah held them open while Glenn and Rick got Tyreese through; when each of them begin to maneuver their way through the wires, Tyreese's foot was suddenly stuck in between two of the metal strings. When a walker got close Michael axed it down.

"C'mon, c'mon-stay up, Tyreese, keep your eyes open…"

"We're through, let's go!"

"Watch out for the branch-"

"Get his arm!"

"Michael, the door-"

"Got it."

"Hold him up!"

"You're alright, you're alright."

Michael got into the truck with Tyreese's head in his lap. Everyone else piled in, with Noah on the other side of Michael and Glenn in the very back and Michonne in the passenger seat.

"Carol, we're at the car," Rick said into the radio. His hands were so slick with blood. "We need to cauterize the arm and wrap it. Get Sasha and Carl _away, _they don't need to see this."

The engine started. Rick floored it but the tires spun in mud, right up until the car got loose and they rammed into the box truck. The back opened up and dozens of walker heads, each with a large **W **carved into the foreheads, spilled out onto the hood. They all watched, stunned, until Rick backed up and turned to go out onto the road.

"Turn it off…" Tyreese murmured. Michael held his head, gently, quiet, because he didn't know what to say. Tyreese looked around at the others, watching, blinking, then stared out the window for a few moments before his eyes fell shut.

"No," Michael cried out, "No, nononono, Ty… Tyreese, wake up- come on, man..."

Nothing. And Michael knew there would be nothing.

* * *

They bury him by a tree.

* * *

"_I'm living in an age,_

_whose name I don't know,_

_though the fear keeps me moving_

_still my heart beats so slow…"_

* * *

**notes:**

**from now on, until my goblin brain decides otherwise, i'm writing in third-person present-tense. this was past-tense because i thought i could do it but i actually hate it, so let's just say it's because everything up until now was in the past, yeah? yeah… anyways, just a heads up :) it's good to be back, friends.**


	3. Three: Blindsided

**Chapter Three: Blindsided**

"_I crouch like a crow,_

_contrasting the snow,_

_for the agony, I'd rather know,_

'_cause blinded I am blindsided…_

* * *

There is a river, old and dried up, that stretches along the forest floor for… well, Michael doesn't even know how long. There are dead frogs, probably too diseased and maggot filled for the group to cook and eat. Michael tries following the river, maybe to find a pond or a lake or anything, but it's useless. He was told to stay close.

Besides. He doubts it leads to anything important.

Twigs crack behind him and he turns to see Daryl, Sasha and Maggie on the river bank. Their expressions are the same as they were half an hour ago so Michael knows their luck wasn't any better than mine.

"Anything?" Sasha asks. Michael shakes his head. He's sure she'd be at least a little disheartened if she weren't so tired and numb. Can he blame her?

Daryl helps him onto the bank and they go back to the treeline, then out onto the gravel road. Down a couple hundred feet is the rest of the group, all of them gathered around their last vehicle-a white van definitely not meant for fifteen people and a baby.

"Oh, shit."

"It's been a day and a half."

A day and a half since they found any water. They're running on fumes; only a few bottles left and that won't last them long, even if they ration it good. A month since Atlanta and all they have to show for it is one less person and barely anything to ingest.

"They didn't find any either."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

They look the same as the small group of four scuffing their feet on the concrete. Dirty, tired, thirsty. If they'd found anything, at least some of them would look less dejected.

Or would they? When was the last time Michael saw anyone truly smile?

"How much longer we got?" Maggie asks. Michael thinks for a minute.

"Sixty miles?"

"I wasn't talkin' about that…"

* * *

The next day, not even twenty miles later, they run out of gas in the middle of the road.

"So we walk," Rick tells them.

The sun is hot. They all probably smell like a walking dump truck; all the group has is a stick of deodorant and not even a bottle of cologne or perfume to musk their collective odor. At this point it's just a regular occurrence to get a whiff of someone's stink.

Michael is given a shotgun to carry; Rick tells him it's a _Benelli M3_. There's only three she;;s left but Michael figures it's better than none. When they get to walking, he falls somewhere in between the middle of the group, near Maggie and Glenn and Carl. They're all mostly silent; small talk is fiction when your companions are too thirsty or exhausted to force it out.

An hour or so after they begin their trek, walkers begin to amass behind them. At first it was just one, but as time went on more and more gathered. Now Michael can count at least a dozen and a half. Rick tells them to let it be and that they'll get them when the group has an advantage. For now they just keep going, wandering, stumbling at times, and when Michael thinks about how they'd all look from afar, he can't help but realize that someone with poor eyesight could mistake them for the dead.

At some point, Daryl goes off to hunt. Carol leaves with him. Carl gives Maggie a broken music box and when Gabriel tries talking to her, she shoots him down before he can get more than a few sentences out. A half hour later, Carol gets back without Daryl. Michael knows him well enough to know he's still alive.

And he knows him well enough to know he isn't okay.

"How far to Washington?" Carl asks aloud. Michael shrugs.

"Forty more miles, if that."

"Think there's anyone there?"

He looks at Carl. A part of him just wants to say no, there's nobody, nobody but the dead and skeletons and charred buildings that are proof that humanity used to be at the top of the food chain. Washington is empty and so is the rest of the world, anyone left is too rotten to call home. They're too late, they've lost too much and they're too far gone to go back to the way it used to be. But when Michael looks in Carl's eyes, all he can see is that same stupid hope he saw in Beth's, in his brother's, in the eyes of anyone he's ever cared about at one point or another, so instead of saying all of that he tells him, "Maybe."

Carl believes this.

They stop to take care of our stragglers at a bridge.

Rick, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Abraham and Sasha stay at the straggler side while everyone else goes ahead to stay at the clear end. The plan is to shove them into another dried up river, this one deeper with big rocks at the bottom, then move on before they have the chance to follow the group again. There's way more than a dozen at this point; maybe twenty five or thirty. It goes well for the most part, too, they get through a third of the crowd before Sasha goes rogue and starts killing the walkers left and right. One thing leads to another, then the others are forced to join her. Michael can understand her; wanting something to take out all the anger, the rage, whatever emotions that got bottled up because there was no time to let it all out.

At one point, Rick is almost bitten, but Daryl comes in through the trees and takes down the walker inches from his arm. Within thirty seconds, the dead are all dispatched, and the group is off again.

* * *

There's a care pileup blocking the road. Not a wreck pileup, but the cars are in groups of two or three, beside each other or in rows and there isn't a walker or a soul in sight. Rick has everyone searching the cars for anything useful; all Michael finds is a half empty pack of menthols, a cleanish rag he sticks in his back pocket, and a disposable lighter. The gas meter is empty.

When he leaves the car, he can hear banging from across the road. Michael is just barely quick enough to stop Maggie from shooting the lock off a trunk.

"Hey…" he murmurs, placing a gentle hand on her arm; hesitantly, she lowers the gun. Michael thinks tears would be welling in her eyes if she wasn't so dehydrated.

"There's… there's one in there, and I shut it and it's still in there."

"Okay. I'll get it."

The first couple of tries, the trunk won't budge, but after a minute of jiggling the keys and twisting them, Michael finally manages to pop it open.

Inside is a walker, bound and gagged, with blonde hair and eyes that could have once been blue. Michael can only stare at it for a moment, silent, before plunging his switchblade into its head.

_It wasn't her._

It looked just like her.

_Wasn't her._

"C'mon," Michael says, and he and Maggie go back to the others.

Down the road, in the shade of a cluster of oak trees, they all take a break on the blacktop to catch their breath and wait on Daryl's second hunt. He returns empty handed.

"So all we got is booze?" Tara asks after Abraham takes a bottle of whiskey from his bag.

"And a lighter and some cigarettes," Michael adds, even though the cigarettes are as useless as the liquor.

"Drinking it isn't gonna help…"

"He knows that," Rosita says.

"It's gonna make it worse."

"Yes, it is."

"He's a grown man," Eugene grumbles, "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."

Michael would try arguing that if he didn't already think they'd been at rock bottom for a long time.

"They can."

Suddenly, growls come from the other side of the road, and Michael looks up expecting to see walkers; instead, four dogs walk out of the brush and bare their bloody, yellow teeth at the group. One barks at them violently, growling, then the others join in, and Michael has his hand on his Colt before Sasha takes each of them out with a silenced shot.

Rick stands up, sheathing his knife, then walks over to the treeline and grabs a couple of branches. "Get that lighter out, Michael."

Dog meat tastes like beef, Michael decides, as long as he closes his eyes and doesn't think about it too much. Daryl skins them and they all make three small fires, big enough to cook the meat, and even though the collars mean that these dogs were domesticated at one point, it's enough meat to put something in all of their bellies. Even if the thought that this was once some kid's border collie or a couple's german shepherd makes Michael's stomach churn.

Across from Maggie, Gabriel throws his clerical collar into our fire. They watch him but nobody says a word.

* * *

Night is spent here. Michael uses his watch shift to smoke and toss the dog collars into the forest, because even though Daryl dragged away what was left of the dogs after stripping them of their meat, Michael couldn't stop glancing back at them. Maybe it was bothering him, maybe he's just an obsessive person.

The next morning, he wakes to thunder in the distance. He thinks he'd been dreaming of the dogs, just close ups of their fur or the collars or Gabriel's clerical burning up like skin, but it was nothing he hadn't seen before. When everyone is awake, they gather themselves and get to walking again.

Michael thinks he's getting sunburn, and as someone who doesn't burn easily, he quickly decides that it sucks. The back of his neck itches and when he scratches it, flakes of dead skin come off, so he wipes it away on his jeans and does his best to ignore the itch for now. It's almost miserable, this heat and the itching and the dryness on his lips and at the back of his throat. Michael's tongue feels like sand.

"I never thought she was alive. I just didn't."

In front of him, Maggie clutches the music box to her chest like a lifeline. Michael can't tell if it's sweat or tears running down her face. "After daddy, I didn't know if I could. And after what Daryl said, I hoped she was out there and alive. And then finding out that she was… and then she wasn't in the same day… Seein' her like that… made it feel like none of it was ever really there. Before… this was just the dark part, and I don't know if I wanna fight it anymore."

That dark part. The feeling of release when Michael's eyes were closed and he could pretend he wasn't where he was. She's feeling it, too, Michael realizes.

"You do," Glenn says. "_You do_. That's who you are. And maybe it's a curse nowadays, but _I _don't think so."

Maggie flinches.

"We fought to be here. And we have to keep fighting. Drink."

Maggie takes the water bottle from Glenn and drinks. When she hands it back, Glenn twists around and holds it out to Michael. He hesitates, but then thinks that Glenn is depending on whether or not he takes it. The dark part is fighting him, too, and maybe this is just his defense.

So Michael drinks. The water sloshes around in his mouth, the bottle crinkles, and he hands it back to Glenn's relieved form. When Glenn offers the water to Daryl, he says no, then goes off to look for more water.

Or so he says, Michael thinks to himself.

When it's been a couple of minutes, Michael looks at Glenn and says, "I'm gonna go after Daryl," and before Glenn can stop him Michael is through the trees. It isn't the hardest, tracking him; footprints and broken twigs and leaves crushed under his feet. By no means is Michael as good at tracking as Daryl, but he's been taught enough to know that Daryl isn't trying to hide his trail. When Michael finds him, he's sitting against a tree by a clearing and burning a cigarette into his hand.

Then, he bows his head and cries.

Michael stands there, quiet, as a moment passes. He thinks of leaving, like he's intruded on something he isn't supposed to see. But Michael doesn't. He walks forward and sits beside Daryl. When Daryl sees him, he wipes his tears away and pretends he wasn't crying, so Michael decides to do the same. He rests his head against Daryl's shoulder and pretends that everything is perfectly fine, even if it isn't.

* * *

When Michael and Daryl get back to the others, they're standing in a circle in the middle of the road. Rick hands Daryl a piece of paper, and when Michael reads it he realizes why everyone has a gun out.

_**FROM A**_

_**FRIEND**_

In the center of the circle is a pile of water bottles, each filled to the brim. More than enough for the group.

"What else are we gonna do?" Tara asks.

"Not this. We don't know who left it."

"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it."

Michael blinks at Eugene.

"But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend."

"What if it isn't?" Carol asks them all. "What if they put something in it?"

Eugene takes one of the bottles from the ground and unscrews the cap. "Quality assurance," he says aloud, but before he can take a sip Abraham slaps the bottle from his hand. Everyone stands there, either too dejected to care or stunned that he would even acknowledge Eugene; since learning of his lie, Abraham has pretended the other man didn't even exist.

Shocked at his own actions, Abraham backs away.

"We _can't_."

But then thunder cracks through the air, and the sky splits open to spill wonderful, wonderful rain.

Everyone is soaked within thirty seconds. Tara and Rosita lie back on the blacktop, laughing; Carl holds out his tongue to catch some of the rain. Gabriel says, "I'm sorry, my Lord," and the rest of them stand and let the rain pour into them.

"Everybody get the bags," Rick orders, "anything you can find."

Michael takes my empty canteen from his satchel and screws open the lid, letting the raindrops pitter-patter through the opening. The others gather their bottles and tupperware bowls, and for a few minutes everyone lets them fill until thunder and lightning boom through the sky. Michael raises his head and tastes rain and remembers how good it is to feel water on his tongue. Not too far away, dark storm clouds that make him think of nightmares draw closer and closer.

"Let's get moving," Rick says above the rain torrents. Get moving to where, Michael wonders, because they're out in the middle of nowhere, but then he remember a nearby landmark.

"The barn," Michael turns to Daryl. "We can stay in the barn."

"Where?"

* * *

It's a quick trip, running through the trees and backtracking with Daryl in the lead. It makes sense for him to lead the group there; he'd been there the longest and probably remembers the route better and yeah, he's also Rick's right hand man. Michael was just a loner.

They get there and a group goes inside to clear it out, but Michael is too busy helping Carl shield Judith from the rain to see who it is. Despite how good it actually feels on his skin, Michael knows that babies can get sicknesses a lot easier than adults, and keeping her from getting too wet is the best course of action. He just wishes Judith didn't have to show him and Carl how _loud _she can scream. _Yes, yes, I get it, you have really strong lungs…_

Rick returns and opens the door all the way, and the rest of them pour inside like a wave. Abraham shuts the door once everyone is in, locks it, and Carl takes Judith across the barn to dry off her head. Michael explores; there's stables and a loft, support beams that look like they'll collapse with one swift kick, the floor is mostly dirt and weeds but it's shelter. Carol and Michonne start a campfire and everyone sets out blankets, old shirts, towels, anything they can use as makeshift bedding for the night. Michael lays out a torn up rug beside one of the stalls and leans against the wall beside Carl. Inside the stall, a corpse sits with the barrel of a rusted shotgun in her mouth, so when Michael gets tired of looking at it he pulls the stall door shut.

Hours go by. The sun sets and the storm rages on, shaking the barn each time thunder booms across the sky. Some of the group go off to try and sleep; only Carl and Judith are successful. Everyone else just lays in the dirt or drinks their whiskey or stares into the fire. Michael sits beside Daryl, both of them with their knees pulled up to their chests. Nobody speaks because there doesn't seem to be a reason to, until Carol says, "He's gonna be okay."

Michael looks up. Rick had been staring at his children and Carol was the only one to notice. "He bounces back better than any of us."

Rick looks away. "I used to feel sorry for the kids that have to grow up now. But I think I got it wrong. Growing up's getting used to the world."

"This isn't the world," Michonne says, her teeth clenched. "It isn't."

Glenn digs his knife into the ground. Michael just watches the flames dance around each other. He remembers how so much has been consumed by fire; the Prison, Terminus, the cities. "It might be," Glenn says. "It might be."

"That would be giving up."

"It's reality."

Michael is too tired to say anything.

"Until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with,' Rick says.

Michonne keeps quiet. There's nothing more to say, for now, and it seems as though she's outnumbered by the pessimists.

And then Rick says, "When I was a kid, I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer… said that was grown up stuff. So, I asked if any Germans tried to kill him. And he got real quiet. He said he was dead the moment he stepped into enemy territory."

The fire keeps burning. Its reflection flickers in Rick's eyes and Michael watches, his heart thudding in his chest, as Rick continues telling the story.

"Every day he woke up, he told himself, 'rest in peace. now get up and go to war.' And then after a few years of pretending he was dead, he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do, and _then _we get to live. No matter what happens I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves that we are the walking dead."

Michael dips his head in between his legs. There's a feeling in his chest that sends voltage through his body; it's quick, and it makes him shudder. To think of becoming one of the dead, a husk of his former self, it makes him want to shrivel into a bag of skin and dust for bones.

Daryl shakes his head. "We ain't them."

Rick watches him. "We're not them," he confirms. Daryl shifts, avoiding Rick's eyes, until Rick says, "Hey. _We're not_."

Daryl stands. His face partially hidden in the shadows, he looks down at Rick and repeats, "We ain't them," before descending into a dark corner of the barn.

Time passes. The storm only grows stronger; Michael can't even hear himself think over the rain and the thunder and the wind. It's driving him insane. He stands up from the fire; the others watch him walk away but nobody says anything. Michael goes to sit on a crate, near the front doors, where Daryl is pacing around with his crossbow. Michael watches him, until Daryl stops and stares.

"We're not dead."

"I know."

"We're alive. You're alive. Ain't lettin' some stupid mantra make you think otherwise. That's horseshit."

"I know."

Daryl watches him. Michael watches back. A wind gust knocks at the doors and then Daryl turns to face them. He squints. Then, he drops his crossbow and rams himself into the wood with a desperate grunt. Michael just sits there, confused, until lightning flashes and dozens of figures are illuminated on the other side of the wall. Michael jumps down from the crate and immediately rushes the doors, pushing on them with all his strength; he slips in mud and splinters dig at his palms. All of a sudden, Maggie is there, beside him, her back against the door and her feet dug into the ground. Sasha joins in a moment later, and one by one the group comes together to keep the dead from getting in. Thunder booms, the dead rasp, Judith cries and the living fight against the current. But through it all, the only thing Michael can hear is Rick saying, again and again…

"_We are the walking dead."_

* * *

"_There's a pull to the flow,_

_my feet melted the snow,_

_for the irony, I'd rather know,_

'_cause blinded I was blindsided…"_


	4. Four: Full Circle

**Chapter Four: Full Circle**

"_cap off, kneeling at the back of the church,_

_feeling water on your brow, if it's healing it hurts_

_at first a sharpish pain that returns as a thought_

_that the needle in your skin will bring you closer to god_

_and i watch,_

_as your head_

_turns full circle…"_

* * *

The next morning, Michael wakes with a crick in his neck.

He'd slept badly; most of them had. The dead only died down once the storm did, in the late hours of the night, and as time passed and adrenaline rushes subsided everyone went down to sleep. Michael only left Daryl's side when he was made to get rest, and the only reason Michael relented was because of the fresh wound on his left hand.

He hisses when he moves it. The gash is deep, gnarly, put on the outermost edge of his palm by a shard of broken wood. It bled enough to worry some of the others but Michael simply wrapped his hand in cloth and told them he would be fine. And he will, probably. At least until it heals.

Michael sits up, slowly, massaging the back of his neck with his right hand. The muscle is stiff and bitter, angry at him for sleeping in such an odd position, but to be fair Michael is used to sleeping uncomfortably. He's used to the cricks and the aches and the pains, and at times they can be dull comforts to him.

"Sleep okay?" Someone asks. Michael stretches, blinking away the sleep in his eyes before shrugging.

"Guess."

Glenn nods. He's got a wet rag, using it to wipe some grime from his neck. Michael glances around the barn. Carol is cleaning her knife; Abraham is loading bullets into a rifle magazine. Rick cooes a fussy Judith and Carl is doing… something as he pries boards off one of the stalls. Michael watches it all as his body adjusts, then reaches down to lift up his shirt. Briefly, he begins examining the mostly healed arrow wound - Carol and Maggie took his stitches out nearly a week ago - until...

"Hey!"

The front doors open. Maggie peeks her head inside, her expression wary. "Everyone…"

She enters, and then a man none of them have seen before follows in behind her.

"This is-"

Guns cock, everyone stands, Carl snatches Judith up off the ground and rushes to a stall at the back of the barn. Michael moves to stand in front of them, his Benelli shotgun aimed at the ground by the stranger's feet even though Sasha has her rifle on him.

"-Aaron…"

Daryl goes outside to survey the area, then comes back inside seconds later. The stranger, dressed in clean clothes and clean-shaven, seems shell shocked by how quickly everyone is moving.

"We met him outside, he was by himself," Maggie explains. "We took his weapons and we took his gear."

Roughly, Daryl pats him down. The stranger flinches more than once and Tara shuts the doors, locks them, and turns to aim her Uzi at the stranger beside Rosita. All is silent for a tension filled moment, until the stranger, Aaron, says, "Hi."

Judith cries.

Carl shushes her.

"It's nice to meet you," Aaron says, moving forward with his hand outstretched, and almost everyone in the room raises their weapons higher. Aaron stops.

Rick eyes him up before looking at Maggie. "You said he had a weapon?"

She reaches behind her back and retrieves a tiny revolver, then gives it to Rick before moving back to her original spot. Rick examines it; he checks the cylinder, closes it, taps it on the palm of his hand before squinting at the stranger. He puts the revolver in the back of his belt. "There somethin' you need?"

Michael can taste the distrust as much as he can taste the dirt particles in the air.

"He says he has a camp nearby," Sasha answers for him. "He wants us to… _audition _for membership."

Michael thinks back to Terminus. His heart skips a beat and he narrows his eyes at the stranger.

"I wish there was another word," Aaron says, almost as though he regrets it. "Audition makes us sound as though we're some sort of a dance troupe… that's only on Friday nights.

He looks around the barn, searching for someone else laughing at his joke, but there's nobody. Rick merely shifts weight onto another foot. Aaron swallows. He shakes his head and glances over at Sasha. "Um, and it's-it's not a camp. It's a community. I think you _all _would make valuable additions."

The way Aaron says that sends shivers down Michael's spine. All he can think of is Terminus, the slaughterhouse, leaning over a tub as bright red blood drips into a drain and his tongue is so dry he's crying because he can't pry off the gag in his mouth and-

Michael blinks away the memories. Forces himself to readjust his grip on the shotgun. _Focus. Focus you stupid bitch._

Aaron continues. "But… it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home."

If Michael wasn't so paranoid of an attack at any moment, he'd scoff. Nobody in the barn seems to believe Aaron's words and Aaron seems to have prepared for this.

"I know. If I were you, I wouldn't go either. _Not _until I knew exactly what I was getting into." Aaron looks over at Sasha. "Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack?"

She raises an eyebrow, but after a moment of hesitation she walks across the way and does as she's asked. Rick takes it.

"Front pocket, there's an envelope."

Rick kneels, opening the backpack and drawing from it said envelope. "There's no way I could convince you to come with me," Aaron continues, "just by talking about our community. That's why I brought those. I apologize in advance for the picture quality. We just found an old camera store last year-"

"Nobody gives a shit," Daryl interrupts. The smile is wiped from Aaron's face and he turns to look at Daryl.

"You're absolutely 100% right."

Rick opens the envelope, pulling out a stack of photos. Glancing back, Michael can see the picture is a black and white frame of blurred metal walls held up by support beams. "That's the first picture I wanted you to see, because nothing I say about our community will matter unless you know you'll be safe. If you join us… you will be. Each panel in that wall is a _fifteen-foot _high, twelve-feet wide slab of _solid steel, _framed by cold-rolled steel beams and square tubing."

Michael realizes Aaron's advertising his so-called community as if he were a realtor trying to sell a house. It pisses him off how desperate Aaron sounds, and raises even more red flags. Rick stands up.

"Nothing, alive or dead, gets through that without our say so. Like I said, security is obviously important. In fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival. The people."

Michael's blood runs cold. Again, his heart skips a beat. All he can think about is Terminus. How they trusted it, how they believed in it, and it almost got them all killed. He doesn't want that again. _Never _again.

"Together, we're _strong,_" Aaron says. "You? Can make us even stronger."

Rick starts walking forward.

"The next picture, you'll see inside the gates. Our community was first construc-"

Aaron finally shuts up when Rick punches him in the jaw, knocking him out cold. Aaron crumples to the ground and immediately everyone is lowering their weapons. Daryl and Carol begin tying him up as Maggie checks his pulse.

"So we're clear," Michonne says as Rick moves away from Aaron, her eyes wide with alarm, "that look wasn't a 'let's attack that man' look. It was a 'he seems like an okay guy to me' look." Rick stares at her for a brief moment before breaking eye contact.

"Michael, Carl. Dump his pack. Let's see what this guy really is."

"Rick-"

"Everybody else, we need eyes in every direction. They're _coming _for us. We might not know how or when, but they are."

As the others continue bickering about what the group should do, Michael and Carl empty Aaron's bag on a crate. There's canned food, jarred food, ammunition, and a flare gun among other useless items. Michael thinks he recognizes a logo on a water bottle but ignores the thought when Rick walks over to the two of them. "Find anything?"

Michael hands over the flare gun. "Just this, ammo, food. Think he was gonna use it to signal his people?"

Rick doesn't answer. He checks the flare gun's cartridge, nods at Michael, then goes to stand over Aaron until he wakes up. "That's a hell of a right cross there, Rick."

"Sit him up."

"I think it's better if he-"

"It's okay." Aaron nods at Maggie. He flexes his jaw.

"He's fine," Rick says, impatient, "sit him up." Michonne pulls Aaron up to sit him on his ass.

"You're being cautious," Aaron starts, "I completely understand-"

"_How many of your people are out there_?"

Aaron blinks. He looks up at Rick and there's a shine in his eyes that Michael can't shake away. Regardless, Rick continues. "You have a flare gun, you have it to signal your people. How many of them are there?"

Aaron sighs. Defeated. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"I mean, _of course_, it matters how many people are _actually_ out there… but does it matter how many people I tell you are out there? Because, I'm pretty sure no matter what number I say-eight, thirty-two, four-hundred and forty-four, zero-no matter what I say, you aren't going to trust me."

Michael leans back against a post and runs a hand over his face. Not knowing anything is putting a pit of black goo in his stomach that just won't stop moving around.

"Well, it's hard to trust anyone who smiles after getting punched in the face."

"How about a guy who leaves bottles of water for you on the road?"

And then, Michael sits up straight, despite the shotgun digging into his hip. He glances back at the crate where Aaron's stuff is, and he realizes why he recognized the water bottle logo.

"How long you people been followin' us?" Daryl growls.

"Long enough to see that you practically ignore a pack of roamers on your trail! Long enough to see that- despite a lack of food and water, you never _turned _on each other. You're survivors… and you're _people. _Like I said, and I hope you won't punch me for saying it again, that _is _the most important resource in the world."

The barn falls silent. Hesitantly, some of the group shoot each other looks. Michael makes brief eye contact with Daryl. The older man is hard to read but that's always the case. Truthfully, Michael doesn't know what to make of the stranger sitting in ropes before them all, and before he can come to any solid conclusions Rick repeats, "How many others are _out there_?"

"One," Aaron answers. The look in Rick's eyes is enough to prove Aaron's point, because then he scoffs and says, "I knew you wouldn't believe me… if it's not words, if it's not pictures, what would it take to convince you that this is for real?"

Maggie stands. Rosita shifts her weight and Daryl begins pacing, slowly.

"What if I drove you to the community? All of you? We leave now, we'll get there by lunch."

"I'm not sure how the sixteen of us are gonna fit in a car you and your _one friend _drove down here in."

Aaron shakes his head. "We drove separately. If we found a group, we wanted to be able to bring them all home. There's enough room for _all _of us!"

"And you're parked just a couple miles away, right?" Carol asks, her voice unreadable as she crosses her arms a few feet away from Michael.

"East on Ridge Road, just after you hit Route 16- we wanted to get them closer, but then the storm came, blocked the road. We couldn't clear it."

Rick's grip on the flare gun tightens and retracts like a muscle. "Yeah, you've really thought this through."

"Rick-if I wanted to ambush you, I'd do it _here. _Light the barn on fire while you slept, pick you off as you ran out the only exit. You can trust me."

Michael doesn't think that listing off ways in which you could kill a group is a good way to gain their trust. Nobody says anything for a while, a short while that feels like an eternity.

"I'll check out the cars," Michonne says.

Without breaking eye contact with Aaron, Rick states calmly, "There aren't any cars."

"There's only one way to find out."

"We don't need to find out."

"We _do._" Michonne's voice is stern and so is the expression on her face. Rick finally looks at her. "You know what you know, and you're sure of it, but I'm not."

"Me neither," Maggie agrees. Her face is pinched in regret but there's no waver in her voice. Rick shakes his head, grinding his teeth and flexing his jaw, and Michael can tell he's considering so many different options and outcomes like branches on a tree.

"Your way's dangerous," he says, "mine isn't."

"Passing up someplace where we can live? Where Judith can _live_?" Michonne tilts her head. "That's pretty dangerous. We need to find out _what this is_. We can handle ourselves." Her expression hardens. "So that's what we're gonna do."

A moment later, Glenn says, "Then I will, too." Rick looks at him. "I'll go."

"Abraham?"

The ginger giant, his hand grasping one of the support beams, nods his head. "Yeah. I'll walk with them."

"Rosita?"

"Okay."

A beat goes by.

"Michael."

Michael blinks. He looks up at Rick, wide eyed like a deer in headlights. "Yeah?"

"You up for the trip?"

When he realizes that this is real, not some stupid fantasy daydream, Michael clears his throat and says, "'Course."

"If you're not back in 60 minutes, we'll come," Rick says as the splintered group prepares to leave. "Which might just be what they want."

Michael, following Abraham and Rosita through the barn doors, hopes it won't come to another fight for their lives. But this time?

This time, he'll be ready.

* * *

Time passes, slowly. Glenn takes the lead of the small group, and the rest spread out across the road on their way to Aaron's supposed vehicles. The sun beams down on them menacingly; Michael has to keep wiping his brow. His mother's locket sticks to the sweat on his neck and each time it moves, he feels another bead roll down his chest. It's such an odd, uncomfortable feeling that each time it happens he shudders, even if he's supposed to be used to it.

Most of the journey is quiet. For a while, nobody feels the need to speak; they all have their weapons out, each of them ready for an attack that may or may not come. Michael has to keep making sure that a shell is chambered in his Benelli because he keeps forgetting. The last time he did it, he huffed, so loud that Rosita looked over at him and said, "It's loaded, hon."

A few minutes after that, Glenn orders them to shoot anyone that approaches.

"Copy that."

"Got it."

"So if we see someone, we just shoot them?" Michonne asks.

Maggie, walking beside Glenn with her revolver out, says, "It's a good question."

"What if they're someone like us? What if Aaron's telling the truth? What if they're someone who has nothing to do with this?

Glenn squeezes his rifle. Michael thinks he can see him clenching his jaw. "We're five people walking with guns. No one's coming up to say hello."

"But that's exactly what happened."

"If it's someone like us, we should be afraid of them. He said he was watching us, right? It means he saw us yesterday. And after everything we've done, why would he want us to join his group?"

"Maybe they want to eat us, too," Michael utters, glaring at the pavement. He can feel Michonne's eyes on him.

"People like us saved a priest," she continues despite what he said. "Saved a girl who rolled up to the Prison with the Governor. Saved a crazy lady with a sword. He saw that." Michonne looks at Michael. "And this won't be Terminus. Not again."

He says nothing.

Glenn keeps going without batting an eye. "I don't know what he saw."

* * *

On the other side of fallen trees sits a car and an RV, exactly where Aaron said they would be. The car is old and ugly and so is the RV, though they both look to be in good condition and don't have the telltale sign of year old dust on their hoods. Rosita and Michael step over the closest tree, and then there's rustling in the woods closest to them; Rosita shoves Michael forward and the two of them are rushing ahead to lean against the car, joined then by Abraham, all of them aiming for the bushes. "Not one step closer, asshole!" Glenn yells. Michael waits, blood pumping through his veins, until two walkers stumble out from the bushes and up the ditch. Abraham and Rosita take them down, and then Michael waits with the others as they search the RV.

"I'm sorry," Michonne tells Michael, staring out at the road behind the RV. He glances over at her, briefly.

"For what?"

"For whatever happened to you in Terminus, and whatever happened before… or after… that made you afraid of people."

Michael stares at her. She stares back.

"If I was afraid of people, I wouldn't be here."

"Then what are you?"

Michael chews on his bottom lip. Sweat beads down the back of his neck and the shotgun is heavy in his hands and there's so much in his brain. "Angry."

"At who?"

He stares at her. "Gareth, his people. Dawn. Noah for living instead of Beth. Me, for living instead of her. Mad at Aaron because… god, Michonne. That place? His community? You know looks too perfect to be real. It can't be."

"But what if it is?" She asks him then, turning to face him. Her eyes are staring down at him, not with judgement or contempt, but with a question that she knows he can answer. "What if it's real, and there are good people there, and we get to become a part of it? What then?"

Michonne watches Michael fidget with his shotgun. He shakes his head. "I don't know."

Her expression softens. "After everything we've been through… all that we've lost. We deserve something like that, Michael. All of us do." Michonne grazes his forearm with her fist in a way that reminds him of his mother. "You, too."

They stand in the silence for another moment, until Abraham calls for them. In the RV, there's food and supplies and it looks homey enough for them to make theirs. A few minutes later, they've gathered up everything, then leave the roadblock to find another route back to the barn.

* * *

"_we got lost in the travels of the spiritual book,_

_missed the beaches from nirvana and the way that they look_

_and the crooks they're on the island, they're killin' to keep runnin'_

_they're runnin severance on the plastic and it seems to be workin'_

_is that the best that i can do?_

_so i watch_

_as your head_

_turns full circle…"_


	5. Five: Swimming Pools

**Chapter Five: Swimming Pools**

" _so tell me how i'm gonna get past this wave to empty swimming pools,_

'_cause i just wanna be at the start of after loving you,_

_i plant my feet and i clench my teeth,_

_i can't outrun what's coming after me… "_

* * *

They returned with fourteen minutes to spare.

Rick had them bring in canned food found in the RV cupboards; there was enough to feed them for weeks. Michael and Maggie sorted through the tins and counted them, up until Rick told Aaron that all the food would be theirs no matter what. His eyes were dark and he held a can of mixed vegetables in his grasp.

"There's more than enough," Aaron sighed. He'd been tied up to one of the support beams, sitting in the dirt and hay and whatever else was on the barn floor. He sounded tired.

"It's ours," Rick continued, "whether or not we go to your camp."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't we go?" Carl asked. Michael exhaled. He shared a glance with Michonne and then he had to look away, because he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"If he were lying," she said, looking around at everyone in the barn, "or if he wanted to hurt us. But he _isn't. _And he doesn't. We need this. So we're going, all of us. Somebody say something if they feel differently."

Daryl, sitting on the ground beside Abraham, spoke up. He met eyes with Rick. "I don't know, man… this barn smells like horse shit."

And after a moment, Rick shifted his weight. He watched his people and then he said, "Yeah. We're going."

Everyone started packing their things.

"So where are we going?" RIck asked Aaron. "Where's your camp?"

"... Every time I've done this, I've been behind the wheel driving the recruits back. I- I believe you're good people, I've bet my life on it… I'm just not ready to bet my friends' lives just yet."

"You're not driving," Michonne told him. From where he stood in one of the stalls, packing up the food with Carl, Michael could see her biceps flex. "So if you want to get home, you'll have to tell us how."

Rick unfolded a map and looked at Aaron expectantly.

"Go north on Route 16."

"And then?" Michonne asked. Rick marked on the map with a sharpie.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

Michonne stared at him.

"We'll take 23 north," Rick said. "You'll give us directions from there."

Aaron got flustered. He wriggled in his constraints. "That's-I don't know how else to say it-that's a _bad _idea. We've cleared 16. It'll be faster."

"We'll take 23."

Aaron stared at him. He'd given up.

"We'll leave at sundown."

"We're doing this at night?" Sasha asked.

"Look, I know it's dangerous. But it's better than riding up to the gates during the day - if it isn't safe, we need to get gone before they know we're there."

"No one is going to hurt you!" Aaron said, his voice raised in desperation. "You're trying to protect your group but you're putting them in danger."

Rick swiveled on the heels of his boots to face Aaron, crouched down. "Tell me where the camp is, we'll leave right now."

Aaron said nothing. He turned his head and stared at the dirt. Rick nodded, then stood.

"It's gonna be a long night. Eat. Get some rest if you can."

He left the barn, and Michael turned back to his bag.

* * *

True to Rick's words, it was night when they left.

Their leader took Aaron ahead in the car, accompanied by Michonne and Glenn. Abraham drove the RV; the rest of them got as settled as they can, despite being smushed together in a camper meant for a family of five at the most.

"Do you really think it's there?" Noah asked out loud. In the very back of the RV, the three youngest males of the group (and Judith, in all her plastic-loving glory) sat on the back cushions that may or may have not been a bed. Michael rubbed his hand over a floral pillow; it smelled of artificial lavender and had probably been washed recently. On his forearm were pen doodles of the flowers on the pillow, just below his blue bandana. Michael stared at it.

"I do," Carl answered. In his hands, Judith squirmed. "I want to."

"What if it isn't there?" Michael countered. He turned to look at them. "I mean, what if it's… just another bad place, like Terminus?"

"What's Terminus?" Noah asked. Michael and Carl shared a glance.

"A… bad place back in Georgia," Michael explained, reluctantly. He could still remember the smell of fresh blood, how his gag felt ripping at the corners of his mouth. He tried pretending that the memories didn't make him shudder. "Run by cannibals. They drew people in by saying that they were some kind of sanctuary, but… they weren't."

Noah winced.

"It was just before…"

Images of Beth filled Michael's mind.

"Before we found you."

Noah nodded and drew one of his knees up to his chest. "Sorry I brought it up…"

Michael shrugged.

"I don't think it'll be like that," Carl continued from the first part of the conversation. It seemed as though he wanted to forget Terminus, too. "It… it can't be. There have to be other good places, right?"

Michael wanted to say yes, but he couldn't bring himself to lie.

"We deserve that," Carl finished.

Did he, though? Did Michael really deserve that? After all the pain, the loss, after Tommy the teenager and Billy the Claimer and Dawn the manipulator, after the slaughterhouse and his mother and his brother and Beth and all the people that deserved to live more than him, could he let himself believe in a place he belonged?

Just then, the RV screeched to a halt; someone up front (Abraham, Michael thought) spat out curses and Michael had to put his arm around Carl and Judith to stop them from falling to the floor. Judith let out a wail; Michael winced as a sharp pain went through his gut, but ignored it for now.

"You okay?" He asked. Carl nodded and tried shushing Judith, which made her cries even louder. Noah sat upright and held the side of his head; Michael guessed he'd hit it on the wall. Michael stood up from the bed and rushed up front, where the others were gathering themselves as well. He looked out the windshield.

"Oh, fuck-"

A cluster of the dead stood where the car should have been. The RV's headlights illuminated them and the herd looked endless under the pale moonlight.

"Where'd the car go?" Daryl asked, pushing past him to take hold of Rosita's seat.

"They kept going, didn't even fuckin' stop-"

"Should we go after them?" Maggie questioned from behind. Daryl shook his head. He squinted, watching the dead as they converged on the RV. One slammed its fist against the hood.

"Circle 'round and find another way to 23-that's what they'd do."

"You're sure?" Carol asked. The walker snarls got louder as the dead got closer.

"Don't got much choice."

With a nod of confirmation from Daryl, Abraham shifted the gear into reverse. "Hold onto your dicks." The RV jolted and Michael almost fell into Tara, barely catching himself before he landed in her lap.

"Sorry-" he grunted, and despite the situation Tara let out a nervous laugh.

Abraham continued in reverse until Rosita yelled out, "There!" In between the thicket of trees on the left side of the road was a thin dirt trail, barely wide enough to fit the RV. Somehow, Abraham managed it, going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit and definitely violating a few laws. As the RV sped through the woods, however, a bright red light appeared in the sky, illuminating the treetops and a nearby water tower. Michael realized someone had shot off a flare.

"Think it's them?" Sasha asked. She nearly fell over as Abraham ran over a tree root but managed to keep herself upright.

"Only one way to find out."

A moment later they were pulling out onto another road - a real one, this time, and Michael would have sighed in relief was he not too busy clambering out of Tara's lap. It looked as though they were on route 16 now; the RV passed a sign as it sped forward. The flare was gone by now, but they could still see the water tower, and Abraham used that as a landmark that led them to a cluster of industrial warehouses. Down an alleyway, just beside the water tower, a small group of the dead surrounded what looked like a car, and… someone pinned down by it?

"Is that one of ours?"

"Could be."

"Then let's fuckin' go!" Without waiting for further instruction, Abraham pulled into the alley, and before he was parked Daryl slammed open the door. He, Sasha, Carol left, Michael and Maggie following close behind, and the four of them took down the walkers as quickly as possible. Michael would have celebrated his first headshot with Len's bow, had the situation not been as dire as it was. Pinned under the back tire was a red-haired stranger, his face pale and sweaty and pinched together in pain. The group pushed away the car, aided by a newly arrived Abraham, and Michael helped Maggie pull him away from the rotting corpses.

"I always hated that damn car," the stranger huffed, crying out when his foot moved the wrong way. Filth and walker blood dotted his clothes and he looked miserable in the dark. Michael heard Carl wince when he saw the stranger's ankle; it was twisted wrong and already turning a dark shade of purple. "Rusty piece of shit-"

"Alright, what happened here?" Maggie asked, kneeling down to examine the new guy's ankle. The stranger-Eric, he said-explained that he'd gone under the car as cover from the dead and got pinned when they shifted it over his leg. Daryl and Noah helped him up and they took him inside a nearby warehouse, into some storage room, where Maggie wrapped his ankle in a makeshift splint. After adamantly thanking them over and over again, rambling on about how lucky he was they found him in time, Eric told them about his community; how they were in dire need of new people and had the room for their group. It was oddly similar to Aaron's speech from earlier, and that was when it dawned on them that this was probably the other person he was out here with. Before Eric could go on, however, Maggie was asking, "I'm guessing you've got a partner named Aaron?"

Eric, from his spot on a pallet made of couch cushions, blanched. "How'd you-"

"He found us first," Sasha said. "We were on our way back to your community when a herd separated us. He's with a few of our others right now."

Eric laughed in a tired way that Michael knew all too well. "He always did beat me to the punch…"

For the first time all day, Michael smiled.

Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of waiting later, three knocks came from Daryl outside the warehouse door. Everyone poured outside to see their lost group members returning. Maggie nearly threw Glenn over, kissing him face and neck and holding him like he's the best thing on earth, and Carl hugged his dad's midsection before Aaron caught Michael's attention.

"Eric? Eric?!"

He called Eric's name so urgently, so desperately, that Michael might have thought they were more than just recruiting partners.

"In here!"

Aaron burst inside the warehouse. Rick followed, squinting, and then everyone went back inside to where they'd been waiting. Michael sat on a table in between Tara and Noah.

"Sorry for falling in your lap, earlier."

Tara grinned. "It's fine. But, like, I just want you to know," she said, her voice all serious, "you're really not my type, dude."

Michael scoffed and elbowed her in the ribs. Tara laughed in a weird way that made her sound like a spray bottle. "I'll keep that in mind next time I want to romantically collapse in someone's arms."

The door to the storage room opened, and out came Aaron. "Uh, everyone?"

They turned to him.

"Thank you. You saved Eric. I owe you - all of you. And I will make sure that debt is paid in full when we get to our community.

When we get to _Alexandria_.

Now, I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not do any more driving tonight."

Everyone made some sort of sound in agreement.

"Maybe we can hit the road tomorrow morning."

"That sounds fine," Rick said, appearing from the shadows behind Aaron. "But if we're staying here for the night, you're sleeping over _there._"

Maggie tilted her head. "You really think we gotta do that?"

"It's the safe play. We don't know you."

_He doesn't know us either, _Michael thought to himself. Aaron's eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw.

"The only way you're gonna stop me from being with him right now is by _shooting me_."

Rick looked like he was considering it, eyeing Aaron up like an opponent in a boxing match, until Glenn stepped forward and whispered to Rick. Michael watched something change in his eyes. He glanced around the room.

"Alright."

* * *

The next morning, after a couple restless hours of sleep, Daryl woke Michael up and the group piled into the vehicles. Eric got the bed in the back this time; it seemed like he got even worse sleep than Michael did, because not even a few minutes after they took off, he was passed out like a baby. Half an hour into the trip, Michael worked up the courage to go back and hold out a bottle of water and pills.

"Oh-" Aaron said, "I know it's time for his meds, but I want to let him sleep until we get to Alexandria…"

Michael blinked.

"It's, ah, it's for you, actually," he said. He used his free hand to point out the rope burns on Aaron's wrists. "I know how bad those can hurt, so…"

Aaron thanked him and took the bottles. Before Michael could turn away, Aaron asked, "What happened to your hand?"

Michael glanced down at it. "The night of the storm, we had to keep the walkers from getting in the barn. One of the boards cut me up."

Aaron nodded. "Back at Alexandria, we've got a pretty good surgeon, Pete. I've seen him do some miraculous things, so… if you want, he could take a look at it."

For a moment, Michael was silent. He supposed that he was still taking this in - the fact that they were going to some place that might be their new home. He wondered if he could even do it, make the switch from fight mode to domestic living. It scared him.

"Yeah. Maybe."

He returned to the front of the RV to watch Tara and Eugene play cards. A few moments after, the Washington Monument popped into view, standing high in the distance. Michael could see the Capitol Building, too. He watched as Carl beamed at it through the windshield.

"Looks like we got to see it after all," Michael told him. Carl grinned at him from across the RV. He propped Judith up for her to see it, though she was too busy saying baby babble to care.

Later, the RV battery died.

While Glenn and Abraham got to replacing it with a spare they found in the floorboards, everyone else stood under the sun and waited. Michael climbed up to the roof of the RV where Daryl was keeping watch.

"What are you thinking?" He asked him. Daryl squinted through the sunlight.

"It's hot."

"About this place, I mean. Alexandria."

Daryl was quiet.

"I don't trust it. Don't think I will for a while." He looked over at him. "But I think we should try."

Michael watched Daryl for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay."

The engine roared to life. A few of the others cheered, some clapped, and Michael climbed down from the roof when Daryl told him to "G'on."

* * *

They pulled up to the front gates an hour later.

The walls looked just like the pictures in Aaron's bag; tall, thick, reinforced and a little bit on the rusty side. It was isolated, from what Michael saw on the drive, on the outskirts of the nearest town and hidden in woodlands. There were burnt out husks of homes and a church with a bell tower and an old abandoned storage truck. The RV slowed to a stop and Michael couldn't stop shaking. He was so nervous he felt like throwing up; the anticipation of this new place was killing him.

It must have been obvious, though, because Maggie put a hand on his knee and squeezed. He pressed his lips together.

"We've got this," she told him, and he tried as hard as he could to believe her. He tried to think of all the good things he had right now. He thought of Daryl, and his switchblade, and the picture of his family that he always kept in his pocket, and he felt Maggie's grip on his knee and his mother's locket on his neck. He thought of how easy this would probably be for Beth if she were here. She'd probably waltz right up to the front gates and make herself at home.

God, he wished that she was here.

Michael took in a fresh breath of air.

Maybe he could start over.

Still shaking, still afraid, Michael stood up and followed Maggie and the others outside. Hesitantly, he followed them to the gates.

And all his fear went away when he heard children playing in the streets.

* * *

" _but i see a lighthouse in the distance calling my name,_

_but i can't get there til i go through all of this pain,_

_there's a glimmer of hope like an exhale of smoke in the sky,_

_and sometimes you drain out all the shit that used to feel right,_

_empty swimming pools… "_

* * *

**Notes: back to third person past tense because why not.**

**we're finally in Alexandria! i've been so hyped for this part of the series and i hope some of y'all are, too. can't wait to use the few tricks i still have up my sleeve ;)**


	6. Six: Take It Easy

**Chapter Six: Take It Easy**

" _crash fast, body high jump_

_falling like an aeroplane,_

_full speed is more than enough,_

_slow it down, no i don't fall._

_you lie awake,_

_and i can't sleep there_

_storms pass though we couldn't see that… "_

* * *

Alexandria's gate slid open and a stranger looked at the group like they were ghosts. Injured, grimy, their clothing torn and their faces dark, they probably looked feral in the afternoon sun. Michael stepped forward, somewhere near the front of the group, observing the man who opened the gate.

A trashcan crashed behind them and all at once, the group turned to raise their guns. A possum scurried out of a trash pile and Daryl put a bolt through it, moving to grab it by the tail. "Brought dinner," he told the man.

He balked at them.

"It's okay," Aaron told him, helping Eric limp through the entryway. Someone else was there to take him away, presumably to Alexandria's infirmary. Aaron turned to the others. "Come on in, guys."

They went. Slowly, everyone followed Aaron inside, immediately met with an almost pristine suburban neighborhood. The lawns were trimmed, the houses all white and gray and blue with front porches and bushes and furniture. Michael heard a dog bark. Down the street, a kid and some teenagers-all around Carl's age-played in the street with a soccer ball. Someone was using a weed whacker around a cluster of pine trees. People milled about, going through their day as if they hadn't a care in the world - and all of them were clean, with fresh haircuts, the men with trimmed beards and some of the women in sundresses. It felt like they'd stepped into the past, into the days before the Fall.

Michael tried his best to not just stand and stare.

"Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons."

Michael blinked. He turned to stare at the man in the orange button up. He had a rifle slung over his back but Michael doubted he even knew how to use it.

"To stay," he continued, "you hand 'em over."

"We don't know if we wanna stay," Rick said.

"It's- it's fine, Nicholas," Aaron assured. As if he were making a point, Rick's Python was out and swinging around with his arm. With Judith hugged to his chest, it was quite the scene, and Michael thought it was probably giving this Nicholas guy whiplash.

"If we were gonna use 'em, we would have started already."

Aaron glanced back at Rick.

"Let them talk to Deanna first."

"Who's Deanna?" Abraham bellowed from the back of the group. Michael was surprised the world didn't shake with his voice.

"She knows everything you'd want to know about this place," Aaron explained. "Rick? Why don't you start."

A walker snarled. Behind them, out on the road beside the RV, a lone shambler made its way to the fence. Rick turned to face it. "Sasha."

Sasha fired a silenced shot and the walker's head exploded.

"It's a good thing we're here," Rick said, and then they were off.

Aaron led them through the community, pointing out landmarks along the way.

"This here is our pond, though we don't have any fish-it's more for show than use."

"Those are the Brownstone Apartments. We've got at least half of Alexandria living there with plenty of room for more."

"That's our clinic-"

"Here's the pantry, Olivia lives there and keeps stock of everything. It's where your weapons will go- _if_ you decide to stay. And… here we are."

* * *

Deanna Monroe was a small woman with graying chestnut hair and fair, wrinkled skin. The first thing Michael noticed about Deanna when he entered for his interview, just after Noah left, was how piercing her eyes were. She wore a sky-blue blouse and Michael thought there was a hint of rosy blush on her cheeks. Her house was tidy and clean, much like the rest of Alexandria, with a coffee table covered in candles and books and a black leather couch with a mustard-colored throw blanket on the back. Michael, who left his shotgun and his bow outside with the others, looked like a startled mouse as he followed her into her living room.

"Please," she told him, "have a seat."

Hesitantly, he sunk into an intricately designed armchair across from Deanna, who sat on the couch. Her legs were crossed and her fingers laced together over her knee. Professional. Michael, on the other hand, drew himself in, his thighs pressed against each other and his arms folded over his midsection.

Behind Deanna, a camcorder blinked. "Do you mind if I record this?"

Michael shrugged. "What's it for?"

"Documentation," she answered, observing him. "The age of technology might be coming to an end, but that doesn't mean we can't use it while we still have access to the utilities around us."

Michael blinked. Deanna continued with a smile and an incline of her chin.

"So, tell me about yourself."

"Like what?"

"Your name, where you're from. Just some basics to start us off."

"Michael W-..." he hesitated. _Fresh start, remember?_ "Michael Dawes. Kailua, Oahu, Hawaii, originally, then Savannah, Georgia."

Deanna hummed. "It seems like you've been around, Mr. Dawes. How old are you?"

"Seventeen. Eighteen in december."

"Can I ask how you met your current group?"

"They found me in the woods, early this year. Five, six months ago." Michael purposefully didn't mention what circumstances it was under.

"They took you in?"

Michael nodded. Deanna dipped her head. "That was quite generous of them. And before that?"

"I was with my school archery team and my little brother at the start. Our bus got diverted on the return trip home from a tournament. We spent some time in a refugee camp, but that fell quick, and after that it was just a few of us, for a while. We learned. We adapted. But… eventually, everyone died but me."

"And your parents?"

"Mom divorced my dad. We left for Georgia when I was thirteen. She and her boyfriend drove home from the tournament and I never saw them again."

Deanna's face was solemn. "I'm sorry for your losses. I've lost a few people, myself. I think everyone has, especially in today's world."

Michael said nothing.

"So you consider them family? Rick, Mr. and Mrs. Rhee, the others?"

Again, Michael nodded. "Sometimes I wonder if the feeling is mutual, but… yeah, I do."

"Oh, it is," Deanna said. "For Mr. Dixon, the Rhees and the young Mr. Grimes, especially."

That took Michael by surprise but he said nothing of it.

"I'm guessing you were a student, before? High school?"

"A freshman."

"Ah," Deanna exhaled. "I remember when my boys were that age. Filled with self discovery and lots, _lots_ of angst."

"Never had time to discover myself. I'm sure I had plenty of angst, though."

Deanna grinned. "I bet. But that discovery part - what kept you from doing that?"

Michael shrugged even if it was a stupid question. How could he '_self_ _discover'_ when he was always running for his life? "I was too busy keeping my brother alive. Trying to teach him, feed him, protect him. And after… I was just wandering. Didn't have any reason to, I guess."

She considered this. "Alexandria started off as a planned community. Self-sustained with its own cisterns, eco-based sewage filtration, solar grids. It's a good place to do all that self-discovery, wouldn't you think?"

Michael glanced around her home. Behind him, a bookshelf filled with all sorts of literature took up the space between two windows.

"I'd rather focus on surviving than that. It's more important to build this place up - keep it safe from the outside. It's too dangerous to figure out who I like, or what I want to do, or how I want to end up."

"It doesn't _have _to be, though," Deanna countered. She leaned forward and locked eyes with Michael. "We've got kids your age here. Plenty of jobs to do. What's something you liked doing before?"

Michael thought for a moment. "I liked building things. Volunteered at the local hospital."

A soft gasp came from Deanna's lips. "We've got a talented surgeon who I'm sure would love to take on a new assistant. Ms. Espinosa mentioned she had some nursing experience as well. And my husband, Reg? He's a professor of architecture. I bet you'd get along well."

"Guess."

Deanna watched him some more.

"What do you want, Michael?"

He blinked. When he didn't say anything, Deanna continued.

"What's something you want in life more than anything else?"

"I don't know… I never think about this stuff. Out there? We _can't_. There's too much… destruction, too much danger to focus on what we want instead of what we need. Don't you get that? There isn't enough time to play pretend."

"But not in here." Deanna leaned back into the cushions. "We've been safe inside these walls since almost the start, Michael. We aren't playing pretend, we're _living_. And I think that living is more than just surviving."

Michael's expression shifted into something that resembled shock. Since almost the start? Did they even _know _how to survive?

"What I'm trying to say," Deanna went on, "is that this place? It has a long way to go. We have much to learn and even _more_ to discover. I want you and your people here for that, to help us through it, to teach us how to survive. It's been a long while since we let people in our walls, Mr. Dawes, and I don't want you to throw away this rare chance of a new beginning. We _need _you." She paused. Deanna looked into Michael's eyes in a way that made him think she could see every part of him, even the parts he didn't want in the light of day. "And something tells me you need this, too."

Michael and Deanna watched each other.

"Do you have any questions?"

* * *

After the conclusion of his interview, only a few of the others were left to do theirs, and once that was finished a plump woman came to collect their weapons. She had black braided hair and glasses and introduced herself as Olivia.

"They're still your guns," Deanna told them as they handed over their firepower. "You can check them out whenever you go beyond the wall. But inside here, we store them for safety."

By the time everyone was finished, the bin was almost spilling over with guns. Daryl was allowed his crossbow and Michael his bow, since they weren't technically guns, but their sidearms and Michael's shotgun were all confiscated. Carol made a show of struggling to put her sniper rifle in the bin, though Michael soon realized she was faking it. He would have laughed if it hadn't been smart enough to take him by surprise. "Should've brought another bin," Olivia joked as she carted the guns away, and only Carol laughed. When she was gone and Deanna had gone back inside, her smile faded.

Aaron led them to their houses. _Plural_. 99 and 101, one bigger than the other but both houses large enough to fit them all. 101, the larger of the two at the very end of the street, was where everyone took their things. The walls were a blue-gray and the floor was black hardwood; the living room had a gray couch, a coffee table, a flat-screen television and even a DVD player. It had a dining room with clothes on the table; the kitchen was modern and had a marble island, drawers stocked with silverware and cooking utensils, and the counter had two sinks. Michael stood in the middle of it all, staring at everything in absolute wonder, because even his grandparents' home hadn't been this fancy.

There were seven bathrooms between the two houses (four in 101 and three in 99), and each of them quickly became occupied when they all started cleaning up. When it was Michael's turn, he descended into 99's upstairs bathroom, passing Rosita along the way. There were a few moments where Michael just stood under the near-scalding water, letting it wash away the dirt and grime and dried blood, and he loved every damn minute of it. The shower floor was quickly covered in all the excess filth. Michael scrubbed until his skin was raw and used a fruity smelling body wash all over, nearly clawing at his scalp to get his hair clean. The scrape on his hand burned like fire each time soap got in it, but he ignored the pain in favor of getting clean - it had been two months since his last real shower, and there was no way in hell he'd be leaving the spray of hot water before he had to.

Eventually, though, the time came, and with much reluctance he left his foggy glass box.

Drying off, Michael wiped away the steam from the mirror. He tried to avoid looking at himself as he forcefully brushed his teeth, but eventually gave in; he was thin, and sunburned, and had ten times more scars than the last time he'd seen his reflection. His hair was too long, his bangs reaching down to his nose when wet, and he pushed it away with a huff. At least he still had his freckles.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come on, dude, I smell like an outhouse!" Tara yelled through the door.

"Be out in a sec!"

Michael dressed in fresh clothes; boxers, black jeans (which he promptly cuffed) a white henley, a new belt and new converse sneakers. The socks were two different colors but Michael couldn't care less. After making sure his things were in their rightful places - his switchblade in his shoe, his picture in his pocket - he wrapped his old clothes in a towel and opened the bathroom door. Tara looked up from where she leaned against the wall and her jaw dropped.

"Sheesh, Michael… you look like a whole new person."

He sheepishly looked at the ground as he made his way past her. "Thanks…"

"You're a little stud muffin!" she called after him. Michael was glad she couldn't see his face blushing.

Walking back to 101, Michael caught sight of Daryl on the porch, spilling possum blood all over the white wood as he gutted his game. From the dirt still covering his face, neck and shoulders, Michael guessed he still hadn't showered. "You'll scare off the neighbors."

Daryl squinted up at him, then looked back down at the possum and pulled out a string of innards. "You smell like a fruit basket."

"Better than possum guts."

"Hmph."

Michael went inside, smiling.

* * *

Rick shaved and Michael didn't even realize it was him the first time he saw him. When he was in the kitchen, filling a bowl with Shepherd's Pie delivered by a nice Alexandrian lady named Charlyne, Rick scooted past him to grab a fork and Michael almost dropped his bowl. It was that much of a difference. Now, though, night had fallen over the community, and everyone was gathered in the living room and getting ready for the evening. Michael sat at the table with Noah and Carl, who was reading a comic book he found in 99's attic. Carl told him about the hangout he found earlier and Michael said he'd help investigate it the next day.

Michonne exited the bathroom with a toothbrush in one hand and her katana in the other. "How long was I in there for?"

"Twenty minutes," Carl and Michael said at the same time, neither of them looking up from their respective books. Michonne grinned at them, and a few minutes later someone knocked on the door. Everyone startled, sitting up and twisting to watch as Rick opened the door like deer in headlights. It was only Deanna, however, not the hunters everyone was preparing themselves for.

"Rick, I-..." the sight of his clean-shaven face must have surprised her like it did everyone else. "_Wow._"

Rick groaned.

"I didn't know what was under there… Listen, I don't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all settling." Deanna looked around the living room, taking in everyone in the group who was there. It was obvious she was taken aback by everyone staying in the same house. "Oh, my…" She looked back at Rick. "Staying together. Smart."

"No one said we couldn't."

"You said you're a _family. _That's what you said. Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?"

"Everyone said you gave them jobs."

Michael could recall Rosita mentioning that she'd be working in the Clinic with the surgeon, Pete, and Glenn, Tara and Noah would be runners. Gabriel was getting his own church and Maggie would be working under Deanna, as a sort of secretary or… something of the sort. Michael thought back to his interview with Deanna, how she mentioned he could work construction or in the Clinic if he wanted-though classes taught by a woman named Samantha were an option, as well. So many choices, it felt, and Michael had been a bit overwhelmed with it all.

"Mm-hmm," Deanna nodded. "Part of this place. Looks like the communists one after all."

Michael bit back a smile.

"Well you didn't give me one."

Deanna tilted her head and smiled. "I have. I just haven't told you yet. Same with Michonne. I'm closing in on something for Sasha, and I'm just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out. But I will."

Michael could hear him let out a low hum from his place by Judith's crib where he sat keeping watch through the window.

"You look good," Deanna told Rick one last time before leaving. Rick shut the door behind her.

* * *

The next morning, Michael woke with his legs tangled in Tara's and his arm a few inches too close to Noah's crotch. He got up as gently and slowly as he could, thankfully not waking the others-it seemed like he was the only one awake. Michael tip-toed out onto the porch, where Daryl was sitting against the railing. Watching. Michael went and sat beside him.

"It looks like we're staying," he said after a moment. Daryl said nothing. "Do you want to?"

Daryl shrugged. "Don't matter 'bout me."

Michael frowned. "Of course it does."

He shook his head. "Nah. It's good for Carl, Jude. You. Y'all need this."

"You do, too," Michael murmured after a moment's hesitation. He crossed his legs; the sharpie flowers from yesterday were still on his arm. "We all do. I… I was afraid of this place, but…" Michael looked over and watched as a woman walked her golden retriever down the road. "These people are harmless. They don't know how to survive, much less kill anybody. I don't even think most of them have stepped foot outside these walls since getting here."

Daryl leaned back against the guardrail. He still smelled of possum guts and Michael cringed at the scent. "Jus' keep your guard up. Be a teenager… do whatever the hell they do these days."

Later, when everyone was awake, they ate a breakfast of leftover Shepherd's Pie and coffee - _real_ coffee, with cream and sugar. After filling their bellies, Michael and Noah followed Carl to 99's attic and went through the items scattered about the room; books, a CD player, a bean bag and pallets made of sleeping bags. Posters were taped and tacked to the unfinished walls.

"Looks like some of the other teenagers made this a hangout spot," Michael said out loud, flipping through a paperback copy of Moby Dick. Notes were scribbled in the margins of most pages in purple ink and for some reason Michael found that funny.

"Do you think they'll like us?" Carl asked. Michael looked up from Moby Dick, his gaze landing on Carl, and he saw the insecurity peeking through him - he remembered feeling that way after he first moved to Savannah, wondering who would like him and who would think he was weird for being so quiet or because his skin was darker than almost everyone else's. It'd been a while since Carl was anyone around his age, Michael, too, and that just meant they'd be facing new kids their age all over again. Even Noah seemed to be a bit nervous about it.

Which is why, after a glance at Noah, Michael said, "You kidding? They'd be stupid not to."

Carl smiled and this seemed to be enough.

The three of them went back downstairs and joined the others as they set about exploring the Safe Zone. Michael ended up wandering around with Tara and Noah, visiting the pantry and meeting Jessie Anderson - Pete the surgeon's wife. She told Michael about her eldest son, how he was close to his age and that Carl was meeting him today, but Michael passed on account of being socially awkward. Especially with people his age.

They met some of the other Alexandrians; Barbara and her children, Bobby and Lenore, married couple David and Betsy, sisters Samantha and Holly (the latter of whom Tara took quite a liking to) the Chopras, a family of four led by Dinesh and Francine, and the elderly Bob and Natalie Miller. They were babysitting a toddler, Sunny, a pudgy brown-haired boy who instantly warmed up to Michael.

"You're amazing with kids," Natalie beamed. "Do you have any siblings?"

Gently pushing Sunny's grabby hands away from his mouth, surprisingly calmed about the situation, Michael nodded. "Had a little brother and a sister on the way. Guess I had to get good with kids," he said with a sheepish laugh. Sunny just stared at him with his big brown eyes the entire time.

Each and everyone one of them acted as though this was just another day; meeting the neighbors, making small talk, pretending the world outside their walls didn't exist. Michael noticed it and he knew Tara and Noah did, too.

Later, while leaving the Miller house, Michael clutched his hand and winced.

"Is it still hurting?" Tara asked, looking down at the freshly bandaged wound. While Michael tried his best to clean it up the night before with Maggie, it was clearly suffering from the onset of infection - she'd tried telling him to visit the Clinic to get it properly looked at, but Michael wanted to put it off for as long as he could.

It was the left hand, and he didn't like it when people paid attention to his left hand.

Despite this, Michael nodded.

"Wanna stop by the Clinic? I'll come with and answer any stupid questions for you."

The corner of Michael's lips rose but was still hesitant to go. "I don't know…"

"It'll be a good chance to scope out the place," Noah offered. "See if you wanna work there with Rosita."

"Seriously, though," Tara said. "You need to get that thing checked out before it starts leaking puss and plasma and all that gross body shit-"

"Okay, okay," Michael relented, and to the Clinic they went.

Shortly before arriving, Tara said, "You never mentioned a sister on the way."

Michael shrugged. It surprised him how comfortable he'd gotten with talking about all of this. "Didn't seem important. And, you know… just another loss."

Tara dipped her head. "Yeah… I get it. I had a niece, Meghan - you remind me of her a lot, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Book reading, silent treatment, could fit in a purse…"

Behind them, Noah laughed.

Michael punched her in the arm. "Just because I'm shorter than you doesn't mean I can't kick your ass."

Tara laughed, again sounding like a spray bottle, but before they could keep fooling around they'd arrived at the Clinic. Tara walked up the front steps and knocked on the door, which soon opened to reveal a shorter woman with glasses.

"Can I help you?"

When Michael didn't speak up, Tara quickly reached forward and shook the woman's hand. "_Hi_\- I'm Tara, that's Noah and Michael."

The woman gave them a tight lipped smile. "Denise."

"We're new here, if that wasn't already obvious, but - Michael here was hoping your surgeon could check a wound on his hand?"

Tara grabbed Michael's arm and held it up, waving it around comically as if that made it more obvious that there was a wound under the bandage. Denise, clearly hiding a smile, pushed her glasses up and moved out of the door frame. "Come on in."

They entered. The Clinic, which was clearly once a regular two story house, had a few unoccupied hospital beds and miscellaneous medical supplies. Most of the machines looked like they were turned off - most likely because they weren't being used - and papers dotted a desk in the corner of the Clinic. Denise disappeared in a back room, returning with a man who Michael assumed was Pete.

"Hey there. You must be Michael," Pete said, walking up to the group. Michael nodded and Tara and Noah introduced themselves.

"It's nice to meet you all. What can I do for you today?"

Before Tara could say anything, Michael raised his bandaged hand for Pete to see. "I cut up my hand on a barn door the day before getting here. Might be infected."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Ouch. May I?"

Michael nodded. Pete took his hand and they went to one of the nearest tables, where he began gently cutting off the bandages Maggie had applied the night before. The gash was scabbed up but still gnarly enough to make Michael wince - even Denise uttered an apology before leaving the room. Pete whistled through his teeth.

"Yeah, you did a number on it. There are some signs of infection, but I'll give you some ointment and antibiotics to keep it away. It might leave a nasty scar, though."

Michael didn't mind.

Pete looked around, furrowing his brow, then cursed under his breath.

"Hey, Amelia! Can you bring me some bandages, _Neosporin_ and a bottle of amoxicillin?"

"On it!" a voice called from a room further in the Clinic. Pete smiled at Michael.

"That's just my other assistant, Amelia. She should be in here in a minute. Mind telling me how this happened?"

Trying his best not to stutter, Michael explained the situation at the barn, how a shard of wood caught him while trying to keep the walkers from getting in, but then someone walked into the room and said his name.

"_Michael_?"

He looked up.

Michael blinked, thinking that maybe he wasn't seeing things right, because staring at him from across the Clinic was his mother.

* * *

" _on the way up we forgot to slow down_

_take it easy,_

_take it easy,_

_too high, high,_

_if we take it too high, i'll be losing you_

_i could lose me, too… "_

* * *

**notes: ah ha ha...**

**familiar, overused and overdone trope in the fanfiction world of TWD? i couldn't help myself. the idea got stuck in my head even before i finished writing A World Alone & wouldn't let go of my brain. stupid idea leeches. oh well, hope y'all enjoy, even if you've already seen it ten times over. thanks for the reads and the reviews and all that!**


	7. Seven: If You Need To, Keep Time On Me

**Chapter Seven: If You Need To, Keep Time On Me**

" _how could it all fall in one day?_

_were we too sure of the sun?_

_if you need to, keep time on me_

_if you need to, keep time on me… "_

* * *

"_Chloe- Chloe, watch out! NO!"_

* * *

"_Mikey, where are we going?"_

"_..."_

* * *

"_It hurts…"_

"_Hold on… hold on, please- wait… Isaac, Isaac! Hold on for me…"_

* * *

_**TWENTY-SIX MONTHS AGO**_

_She woke among fire and sirens and screaming, hanging upside down in her seat. It felt like forever before she could escape; somehow she managed not to fall flat on her face, instead easing down on her spine as gently as she could. Strangers pulled her from the burning wreckage. Even when she screamed his name-_

"_WENDELL!"_

_-they still pulled her away as the car exploded into a million fragments. She was brought into a van full of strangers, clutching her seven-month-grown belly, and as they drove away they asked her name._

"_Amelia," she told them, and they were kind to her - they gave her food and water and said they were driving to a refugee camp in the east. She told them no; she had to get to her sons, her two boys, they were still out there and even with the world falling into chaos she was going to fight to find them. She wanted to find them. She would kill to find them. The people in that van, god bless them all, they obliged. That was probably what saved their lives._

_A week of traveling got them back to her home. The blue-walled house she shared with her boys, the place where she would be raising her daughter, the suburban dream she fought tooth and nail to afford all by herself. It was empty; it had barely been touched since the Start, somehow spared by the fire that consumed the house next door. She packed her clothing and her photo albums and they waited there for weeks until it was apparent that her boys would not be finding their way home. When Amelia realized this, she cried and cried and cried until she left with the others._

_A month went by. A month of surviving, of death, of their numbers dwindling until only a few of them remained. Almost every day Amelia spent in grief of losing her boys; in regret of not looking for them harder, of the last thing she said to her youngest being in an angry tone. She lived in pain but lived for the growing life in her womb and they went east in search of hope._

_At the start of July, just two days after her thirty-fourth birthday, Amelia gave birth to her third son in the back of a school bus. _

_He had his father's hazel eyes and her pitch black hair and wailed louder and stronger than either of her boys had cried when they came from between her legs. She did not know what to name him so she settled on calling him Baby; what she did know, however, was that she loved him as much as she'd loved Michael and Isaac, and that she would do anything she needed to protect him._

_Someone, a rotten seed in their group, wanted to get rid of her. She said that Amelia and her baby were a liability, a danger to them all, so when she was asleep that night Amelia and the others left her at a gas station. Days later, when they'd reached the Virginian beaches, a kind couple by the names of Aaron and Eric found them in a boat ready to sail for Nova Scotia; a rumored haven for the living. What Aaron and Eric promised them was real, however, it was no rumor, so they left for _Alexandria _the next day._

_On their journey, when Eric asked her the name of her week old son, Amelia looked up at the sky before turning to Eric. She'd smiled._

* * *

Michael didn't remember what came next immediately after his mother walked into the room. One moment, they were staring at each other, and the next they'd collided in the middle of the Clinic like cars. His mother was grabbing at his back and crying into him and saying his name over and over and Michael could only hold her as hard as he could. He smelled her hair and felt her grip around his shoulders and yes, it was her, everything about this woman was his mother. She pulled away only enough to cup his wet cheeks in her hands and look him in the eyes. Her face was red and her glasses were fogged but still she looked at him as if he were the only real thing in the world.

"It's really you?" Michael asked, he had to, and his mother nodded while choking back her tears.

"It's me, baby, it's me…"

And then they were holding each other again, crying even harder, until someone else in the room cleared their throat. After a moment, Michael pulled away and turned to see Tara, Noah, and Pete all looking at them with varying levels of confusion.

"Um," he started, his tongue feeling like sand, "Tara, Noah… this is my mother. Amelia."

Tara blinked. "Oh. Uh. Hi."

Noah waved shyly.

"Well," Pete said. "This is a surprise."

Tara, seemingly shaken from her state of confusion, tapped on Noah's arm and nodded to the door. "We'll be at the house if you need us, Michael."

"I- I'll be there tonight," he managed, hoping to assure Tara through his gaze, but she only nodded in response and left the Clinic with Noah.

"I'll give you two some time," Pete smiled, and after watching him go deeper into the Clinic, Michael turned back to look at his mother. She was watching him like he was a dream.

"You've grown," she cry-laughed, holding his uninjured hand, then led him to a table where they sat and spoke as she patched up his hand. Michael took in every part of her as they shared their stories; her hair, still pitch black like the night, was cut just below her collar bones, framing a pale heart-shaped face. She still had her glasses and he still had her eyes.

He told her of the first few months, of learning how to survive and learning how to kill the dead. He told her about Dylan, Carter and Chloe and when he told her about Isaac, they held each other and cried and cried until they didn't. He continued and told her about the Prison, how they took him in like a stray and cared for him and healed him and how he got close to a girl, a pretty girl with blonde hair who taught him songs on the piano. He told her she died and she held him when he cried again. She told him about losing Wendell, of getting picked up by a van full of survivors that helped her look for Michael and Isaac until they couldn't anymore, going east in search of safety and stumbling across Alexandria.

"I never wanted to stop looking," she said, eyes shining with tears. "Not once. I need you to know that, baby… I went to the house and waited, but it wasn't safe, and…" she wiped her face. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you."

"I know," Michael said, and he did. It was weird; he'd gone through the motions of losing her, grieving her, accepting that he'd never see her again, but here she was. Sitting in front of him. Michael could only guess the pain and regret she held over being safe behind guarded walls as he fought to survive for two miserable years. "You don't need to be sorry," he finally said, and he hoped that his mother heard the truth in his voice. She took his hand, squeezing it tight, and then Michael glanced down at her flat belly. He almost asked the question; the one with the answer he was afraid of. He'd already grieved for two lost siblings.

She noticed his gaze then squeezed his hand again.

"I want you to meet someone," she told him.

They left the Clinic and Michael's mother led him across Alexandria to the Millers' house. He followed her without question, all the way up their perfect white steps and into their perfect white house and into the kitchen, where Natalie spoon fed the toddler from before. When Sunny noticed them walk in, he beamed up at Michael's mother through light blonde curls and squealed happily.

"Mama!"

Michael almost fainted right then and there.

"Michael," Natalie smiled, "you're back already?"

He didn't know what to say. His mother went ahead, thanking Mrs. Miller for watching Sunny, then gently eased him out of the high chair. Sunny babbled on incoherently as his mother brought him over. "Let's talk outside," she said, and so he followed her out onto the street.

"I…" Michael stuttered. "I thought you were having a girl…"

His mother laughed, bouncing Sunny on her hip, "So did I. Turns out the doctors were wrong-"

"Just like Isaac," Michael murmured. His mother smiled at him, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Yeah, baby. Just like Isaac."

For the second time that day, Michael held his brother.

His mother brought them back to their apartment at the Brownstones. It was on the second floor with two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room and it was decorated in a way that Michael knew to be his mother's. They cooked venison stir fry with vegetables from the gardens and ate at the table, moving from an awkward reunion to the beginnings of a mending relationship. He played with Sunny, who had an adorable fascination for bowls, and while cleaning up the dishes his mother saw the scar on his wrist. She acted like she hadn't, but Michael saw the sadness in her eyes the next time she looked at him.

The entire time he spent with his mother, he couldn't help but think in the back of his mind that it felt so… fake. Plastic. Artificial. He loved his mother, he felt beyond lucky to be with her again, but he could feel himself slipping. His heart rate rose, everything felt bigger than him. It was all getting to be too much. When the dishes were finished and his hands were dried, Michael's mother walked him to the door.

"You're sure you don't wanna stay?" she asked him, the hope in her voice evident. Sunny sat in the living room playing with his bowls.

Michael shook his head. "I should probably get back before they worry. And, ah… this is all just a little… overwhelming. It's a lot. I'm sorry."

She shook her head and smiled because she knew him. She understood him and he was thankful for that. "It's okay. I know it's a lot to process." Her eyes drifted to his chest, and gently she reached forward to touch the locket around his neck.

"You kept it…"

Michael looked down. "Oh, yeah. It was one of the only things I had of you, so…" he trailed off. "But, uh, you can have it back if you want-"

She shook her head and dropped her hand. "No, no, keep it. It looks good on you, love. Just promise me you'll visit soon?"

Michael nodded, relieved. The locket had become a part of him, and as willing as he'd be to give it back to his mother, he would have hated to part with it. His mother held him, and he held her back, and she whispered something in his ear before he left the Brownstone Apartments. He walked back to house 101 in a daze; he felt the sun on his skin, a soft breeze flowing through the streets, he heard children playing with a dog and someone laugh. Part of him wondered how they could act so mundane when death was just outside their tall steel walls and what they would do if they came tumbling down.

"Hey," someone said. Michael turned and Carl was there, walking down the street beside him with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Michael noticed he wasn't wearing his hat.

"Hey. How's Alexandria so far?"

Carl shrugged. "It's… okay. The people are nice. But… they're weak. Sheltered."

Michael nodded. "Yeah… it's like the world never ended here. I haven't heard anyone say anything about the dead or mention the outside world. It's like… it just doesn't exist for them."

He hated it, but he was speaking of his mother, too.

"We can teach them, right?" Carl asked. "How to survive?"

Michael stared ahead. "I hope so."

They kept walking in silence, both of them uncertain of the safety of their new home, until Michael blurted out, "My mom's alive."

Carl stuttered. "What?"

"She's… been here the whole time with my baby brother. I just had lunch with her."

Carl stared at him for a moment, wide eyed, until a genuine smile appeared on his face. "That's great, man! That's really great. Are you gonna stay with them?"

Michael shook his head, still dazed from the day's events. "No. I can't. It's… too much, you know?"

For a second Michael could see relief in Carl's eyes, though it quickly disappeared. "Yeah. Cool. We should get back. Carol's cooking casserole tonight."

* * *

Michael did his best to downplay the revelation that his family was alive when telling the others - he thanked their congratulations and answered as many questions as he could, but it exhausted him to talk about it; to even think about it, really. Everyone was kind, despite Michael's fears of anyone's (valid) jealousy, and he was thankful when the dinner conversations shifted away from him and his family. And despite the danger lurking outside Alexandria's walls, the house was nearly bursting with laughter and talk.

"Okay, okay, wait - " Tara almost choked on her casserole. "Michael, please tell me you've seen The Notebook and think it's a wonderful movie-"

"No, no way!" Rosita interrupted, pointing a finger at Tara. "Peer pressure!"

"You have no say, you haven't even seen it!"

"Because I know it sucks."

"Abraham, please knock some sense into your lady."

"No can do, even if I do think The Notebook is a honkin'-fine piece of film."

"You're no fun. Noah? Maggie?"

"It's alright, I guess-"

"It was my parents favorite, so yeah-"

"Hey, what about me?"

"Okay, Glenn, what about you?"

"I've never seen it."

"What- then why-"

"I like feeling involved!"

"Michonne?"

"I think it's amazing."

"_THANK YOU!_"

* * *

The next morning, as sunlight glared into the living room, Michael woke up with an elbow digging into his spine and his head pressed onto someone's midsection. He laid still for a few minutes, waiting as his body woke up, then joined the others in getting ready for the day. He took a shower and dressed in blue jeans, a white v-neck with a green button-up and the same converse as the day before. Today was the day everyone would be going to their new jobs; Rosita in the Clinic, Abraham with construction, Maggie working with Deanna, Carol making lunches with some of the other Alexandrian women, Sasha as a lookout, Gabriel starting up his church (a garage, really) and Glenn, Tara and Noah on a supply run with Deanna's son, Aiden, and Nicholas - the man who opened the gate for them when they arrived at Alexandria.

Michael was given the option to join anyone, seeing as he hadn't been assigned an official job yet, and despite how tempting it was to stay inside and avoid everyone, he knew he had to choose. Going to classes wasn't appealing at all. He'd hated having so many options to choose from and for a while indecisiveness plagued his brain, until he settled on going with Glenn and the others on the run. It felt like the right option, for now, and everyone involved seemed fine with it. As they left the house, Michael adjusted the climbing axe on his thigh and followed the others to the armory.

"Think we'll be going very far?" He asked out loud, trailing along beside Tara as they made their way to the Brownstones. Ahead, Glenn shrugged.

"Depends on what this Aiden guy wants. Apparently he's in charge of all runs and expeditions."

A door opened and out came Amelia, her hair tied up and Sunny in her arms. She sat him down on his feet and he clambered down the steps, giggling as he did so, and when Amelia noticed Michael she called out for him.

"Hey," he said, a bit awkwardly, as she and Sunny walked over to where the four of them had halted on the brick sidewalk.

"I was just about to drop Sunny off at Barbara's," his mother said. She smiled at them. "You're Tara and Noah, right?"

"Yep, that's us," Tara said. Michael's mother reached out to shake their hands, then turned and shook Glenn's.

"I'm Amelia. It's nice to meet you all officially - Michael's told me a bit about you guys. All good things, of course," she smiled, squinting against the sunlight. "How's Alexandria treating you all so far?"

"Well," Glenn said, "it's a lot different than the outside."

Amelia nodded. "I'm sure. If you guys ever need anything, I'm usually at the Clinic or out and about." She looked at Michael. "Deanna said you might be interning there - are you heading there now?"

Michael shook his head and tried ignoring the slight disappointment in his mother's eyes. "Going on a run, actually - figured I'd be better at that for now."

Amelia nodded again. Sunny whined and she looked down at him, a smile crossing her face. "Well, I'm gonna get Mr. Man here to Barbara's so I can start my shift. I'll see you later," she told Michael, and he forced a smile in return.

"Of course."

She smiled politely at Glenn, Tara and Noah. "It was nice meeting you all again."

"You, too."

"Same here."

"Yep."

With that, Amelia looked at Michael one last time before leaving for Barbara's.

"She's nice," Glenn said as they continued to the armory.

"Yeah… she is."

Two men who were most likely Aiden and Nicholas ascended a staircase as the four of them approached the armory.

"Glenn, Tara, Michael, Noah?" Aiden said, pointing each of them out as he called them by their names. He was an attractive young man with dark brown hair, pale skin and his mother's lips, and he carried himself confidently. "Nice to meet you, I'm Aiden. You met Nicholas pulling gate duty."

Nicholas waved.

"You're Deanna's son?" Glenn asked. Aiden nodded.

"That's right. I hear you got experience making supply runs."

"I saw your pantry - you guys seem to do pretty well."

Aiden looked flattered. "Yeah, well, I had some training before this. ROTC. Was nearing lieutenant when this shit blew in."

"My dad did ROTC," Noah mentioned.

"He didn't make it?"

Noah shook his head. "Nah."

Aiden looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry." A beat went by. "I'm sorry a lot these days…" He took a few steps forward to walk past them. "C'mon. I'll show you the ropes."

"We're doing a run today?" Tara asked. Aiden turned to them.

"Just a dry run. Show you the terrain outside the walls, see how you do. Weigh each other's sack a little, y'know?"

Michael tried not to cringe.

"No, I don't," Tara mumbled before pressing her lips together in a tight smile, "but cool."

"What about weapons?" Glenn asked, ignoring Aiden's words altogether."

"Oh yeah," Aiden said as Nicholas began rummaging through a bag. "We pulled out some sweet ass biscuits for today."

Each of them were given a single handgun, no extra magazines or anything. Michael checked the clip of the Beretta he was given - fifteen rounds, no more, no less - before clicking it back into place. Glenn glanced at him, clearly trying not to grimace at the meager weaponry they were given, before they followed Aiden and Nicholas outside the walls.

* * *

"We've been increasing our radius mile by mile, spreading in a semicircle around the town," Aiden explained as he led them through the woods. Michael noticed that both he and Nicholas carried assault rifles and backpacks of their own.

"We've made it fifty-three miles out so far," Nicholas added.

"We break into two groups when we step outside our vehicle; if shit hits, we fire a flare. One group gets the other."

"Good system," Noah said.

"It is. Still, you're standing here because we lost four people last month."

"What happened?" Glenn dared to ask.

"We were on a run, the roamers came out, they didn't follow the system."

"They were good people," Nicholas said, glancing back at them.

"They were. They were just… scared. Look - I can be a hardass. And I know I'm a douchebag." He turned to face them. "Someone's gotta call the ball around here and that someone is me. If you're on this crew, you do exactly as I say."

_Noted, _Michael thought.

"Sorry you lost your people," Tara said after a moment.

"Yeah. We got ours."

Nicholas snickered and they continued. Tara and Michael glanced at each other before they followed.

"Managed to snag one of the deadheads that took them down," Nicholas explained, "strung it up there." Michael could see a glint of metal through the trees and felt his brow furrow.

"What?" Glenn asked, incredulous. "Why?"

"Now we have a little pregame ritual, get our heads on straight," Nicholas continued, ignoring the question.

"Reminds us what we're up against," Aiden added. They came into a clearing where a hooked chain hung from a tree branch; rotten flesh clung to it but it was otherwise vacant of any walkers. Below it, a pool of blood and chunks of flesh sat on the forest floor. "Son of a bitch!" Aiden yelled, his face twisted in frustration. "Help me find it."

Michael watched Nicholas and Aiden spread out - reluctantly, so did the others. "Blood's still wet. It's nearby."

Nicholas whistled and Michael's spine went cold. Tara twisted around, shushing him, and Glenn rushed over. "Hey, hey - it's gone."

"It took down one of our friends!" Aiden grumbled, as if that would give reason to them endangering the rest of the group. "It's nearby, we're not letting it go."

"Why don't you just kill it?" Michael asked, somewhat afraid of the answer. Aiden glared at him.

"It isn't good enough."

Nicholas whistled again, louder this time, and then the walker stumbled into view beside Aiden. It walked around him, drawn to Nicholas who was clapping and hooting to get its attention. "Hey, come on, come at me!"

The others watched as the scene unfolded, Michael growing wearier by the minute. He and Noah raised their guns and aimed at the walker but Nicholas yelled at them before either of them could fire a shot.

"No, don't touch it!"

"The rest of you, back off," Aiden ordered, the bloodied chain now in his hands. He grabbed at the walker's arms as it drew closer to Nicholas. Tara drew her knife and against Aiden's protest, Michael retrieved his own climbing axe, both of them getting closer. The walker turned on Aiden, who quickly shoved it away, but then it stumbled back into Tara. She grabbed at its skin and tried keeping it away as Nicholas yelled at her to hold onto it, but then it twisted around and snapped its jaws at her and before things could get any bloodier, Michael was slamming his axe into the side of its head.

The corpse crumpled to the ground. Michael could feel anger bubbling in his chest as Aiden scrambled to his feet. "_What the hell_?!" Aiden yelled, getting up in Michael's face. Despite the major height difference, there was no way in hell Michael would be backing down. This is what got people killed - getting cocky in a world where confidence got you killed. There were so many things Michael wanted to say but he could barely get them out, he was so angry.

"Fuck you," Michael finally managed to force out. "She could have fucking died!"

"I told you all to stay back! I told you to listen to every damn thing I said. I told you that."

Glenn moved forward and pushed himself in front of Michael, jaw clenched in anger, and Aiden glared him down like he was getting ready for a brawl. It stayed like that for a moment until, slowly, Glenn backed away. The others followed him back to Alexandria.

It was a short and silent trip - maybe five minutes of tension surrounding them like a livewire. It gave Michael time to cool down but there was no way in hell he'd be relying on Aiden or Nicholas anytime in the future. He was sure of that. This time, the two of them trailed behind the others, both steaming with rage.

They walked through the gates. The Alexandrians were going about their day like normal, someone clipping hedges and a few kids playing frisbee in a yard. A few teenagers, all of them more or less around Michael and Noah's age, walked down the street. Michael could hear their laughter and a large part of him resented how nonchalant they were when the outside world was _right fucking there._

"You four need new gigs," Aiden finally said. The gate shut behind them and Michael resisted the urge to laugh bitterly. Tara, however, went ahead and laughed her ass off. Aiden ignored her and they ignored him.

"You're not ready for runs yet."

"Yeah, pretty sure you got that backwards," Glenn said, still walking, but then Aiden shoved past Michael to grab Glenn by the shoulder. Everyone stopped and Michael felt the air get thick again.

"Look, we got a way of doing things around here-"

"You tied up a walker-"

"It killed our friend!" Aiden said, his blood soaked arms raising up as if he was tired of repeating the same stupid excuse. Michael looked over and saw that a few Alexandrians had gathered to watch the scene, including the teenagers from before. One of them, a lanky guy with a shaved head and a tattoo on his face, made eye contact with him before Michael looked away.

"Look, I'm not having this conversation," Aiden huffed. "You obey my orders out there."

"Well then we're just as screwed as your last run crew."

Aiden froze. Michael watched as Daryl and more Alexandrians approached. Aiden got up close in Glenn's face and Michael resisted the urge to grip his axe. Despite the rage in him he knew it would look bad. "_Say that again_."

"Back off, Aiden," Tara warned. Aiden ignored her in favor of shoving Glenn back a couple of feet. Michael could see the fire in Glenn's eyes but knew he was fighting it back. For Aiden's sake.

"Come on, man," Noah said, "Just take a step back."

Michael got closer. Aiden shoved Glenn again but still refused to do anything. "Come on, tough guy."

Glenn shook his head. "No one's impressed, man," he whispered, loud enough for those in the immediate vicinity to hear. "Walk away."

"Aiden!" Deanna yelled, suddenly there with Maggie by her side. Deanna went to stand beside the two men as Maggie halted beside Michael. "What is going on?"

"This guy's got a problem with the way we do things." He turned to look at his mother like an angry little boy who got bested in some stupid game. "Why'd you let these people in?"

Glenn said what everyone was thinking. "Because we actually know what we're doing out there."

Aiden reared around and threw a fist at Glenn, who ducked and hit him in the face. Deanna yelled for her son as Aiden collapsed to the ground. Nicholas ran at Glenn but then Daryl was there, charging Nicholas and knocking him to the asphalt. Michael heard the wind rush from his lungs with a grunt. Almost everyone closed in on Aiden and Nicholas, ready to do whatever it took to keep them from attacking again. Michael almost went a step further but Maggie grabbed him by the arm. She shook her head.

"I said that's enough!" Deanna screamed. "That is _enough_!"

Michonne and Rick joined them and were the ones who broke up the fighting. As Rick coaxed Daryl off of Nicholas, Aiden stood up and got ready to go after Glenn, but Michonne got in his face before he could. "You wanna end up on your ass again?"

Aiden backed away and Maggie went to stand by her husband's side. Rick yanked Daryl away and Nicholas stood, stumbling around and clutching his throat where Daryl had been holding him down. He coughed and Daryl paced like an angry lion, his hair veiling over his eyes as he stared at Nicholas' red face. He looked ready to pounce and the only thing stopping him was probably Rick.

"I want everyone to hear me, okay?" Deanna said, her voice raised as she faced the Alexandrians who were watching. "Rick and his people are part of this community now. In all ways, as _equals_!"

Cicadas chirped in the distance.

"Understood?!"

Deanna glared daggers up at Aiden until he shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just been punched to the ground. His expression was cocky like he'd won the fight. "Understood."

"All of you turn in your weapons," Deanna ordered before telling Aiden and Nicholas to see her afterwards. After a moment, the crowd began to dissipate, and Michael only left after Tara pulled on his arm.

"Let's go."

* * *

" _who knows what state is in store?_

_if they all turn, will you run?_

_if you need to, keep time on me_

_if you need to, keep time on me… "_

* * *

**Notes: well, Michael's biological family - what's left of it, really - is alive. hopefully this doesn't seem like it was an idea i suddenly sprung on the book, 'cause like i mentioned last chapter, i've actually had it planned since the beginning of A World Alone, along with Amelia being pregnant with Sunny when the Fall happened. i figured it'd make a good inner conflict for Michael, seeing as he now has two families to… not necessarily choose between, because he'd never be forced to do that, but now he's obviously got to keep in mind that Alexandria can't be something he can leave with the others if the going gets tough. he's got more to think about now and hopefully i do it right! Amelia and Sunny will have more involvement in the story later on, i promise, though for now they'll be on the backburner for a bit, as i've got some more new characters to introduce in the next chapter. **

**Notes update: apologies for the lack of updates. just over a month and a half ago i was in a very bad car accident which left me in a physically disabled state. i'm healing and have improved loads compared to how i was just after the crash, however i'm focusing on that and putting my all into getting better so updates will be slow and not as frequent as they used to be. thank you to everyone who's been patient and especially to those of you who have helped me mentally through this trying time. i have one other chapter of this already pre-written, which will come in two weeks or so (along with a chapter a day or so after that) but beyond that i have no clue on what will become of this story. i've lost some love for it, i have to admit, but i do find myself thinking of it from time to time and have some things i want to do, and i do keep coming back to write some for it.**

**lots of love and love and love and love, **

**damp.**


	8. Eight: Bigmouth Strikes Again

**Chapter Eight: Bigmouth Strikes Again **

" _and now i know how Joan of Arc felt,_

_now i know how Joan of Arc felt_

_as the flames rose to her roman nose_

_and her Walkman started to melt… "_

* * *

Rick and Michonne were Alexandria's new constables. Deanna asked them to serve as such after they broke up the fight between Glenn and Aiden - it appeared to be set in stone when Rick walked downstairs dressed in uniform that night.

The next day, the group split; one half was going to live in 99 and the rest were staying in 101. Michael joined Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, Rosita, Carol and Daryl in packing up their things and taking them to the other house. Among the five bedrooms, two upstairs and three downstairs, Abraham and Rosita were getting their own room, along with Glenn and Maggie, and Carol, Daryl and Michael got rooms to themselves. Michael chose the smallest - it sat in the corner of the upstairs, across from the bathroom and at the end of the hallway. It had blue walls and a ceiling fan and a dresser, a nightstand, a table in the corner of the room and a twin bed. The nightstand had a lamp and the dresser had a flat screen TV and a few DVD's sat beside it. Michael sighed. It felt weird to have a room like this all to himself.

Michael dropped his bag on the bed and sat his switchblade on a desk with a twirl. The axe and the Beretta both had to be turned in according to Olivia, who he was too tired to argue with, but the switchblade was safe since nobody knew he had it. At least, nobody who wanted it locked away.

Michael saw a picture frame on the desk. It had a stock image of one of those fake, cheerful families smiling at each other on a summer day, their hair blowing in the wind as they played in a suburban backyard. Michael took that picture out and crumpled it, tossed it into a trash can, then replaced it with a picture of his own; the one he carried with him every single day. It took him a moment to slip it in, and it didn't fit that well considering it was a bit too small, but eventually he managed to pin it inside and sit it back down on the desk. The picture itself was of him, his mother, and Isaac all standing in front of their house back in Savannah - the one his mother worked day, night, weekends and holidays to give them. Michael looked at the photo one last time before turning to unpack his things. He eventually came across his cigarettes - there were four left, crinkled and leaking tobacco slivers, and he smoked two of them before saving the rest for later.

Later, after he'd put his shirts in the closet and his pants, underwear and socks in the dresser, Michael heard a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Daryl took a couple of steps inside. His eyes flickered around the room before they landed on Michael, who sat at the desk with one knee pulled up on the swivel chair. He'd been flipping through a case of CD's he found sitting in the closet with a CD player; most of them were mixed tapes, all of them labeled after a different word.

"Settlin' okay?" Daryl asked. Michael nodded. He saw the coat of grime still on Daryl's skin and realized he still hadn't showered.

"It's… weird, having this all to myself. What about you?"

Daryl shrugged. "Room's too big. Guess I'm tryin', though." A moment passed. "I'm goin' on a hunt. Gonna try to get some deer, maybe squirrels if I can."

"Want me to come?" Michael asked. He hoped Daryl would say yes; he didn't wanna be cooped up in Alexandria forever. To his disappointment, Daryl shook his head.

"Nah. Stay."

"You sure?"

Daryl nodded. He sniffed.

"You been smokin'?"

"No," Michael lied. Daryl squinted at him.

"Get better at lyin'. I'll be back for dinner." Then he was gone; Michael leaned back in the chair and smiled.

* * *

The morning turned into afternoon peacefully. The sun rose high and most of them went to their jobs, everyone but the runners, who Aiden was still bitter at. Carol made cookies and told Michael about a welcome party Deanna was hosting, and he pretended not to freak out because he was babysitting Sunny today. The Millers were too busy helping Deanna get the party ready and Barbara's son had an asthma attack, meaning both of Amelia's go-to sitters were out for the count. So, Michael volunteered.

"You're sure?" His mother had asked him, bouncing a particularly whiny Sunny in her arms. Michael wasn't, but he wanted to help her out. It was a start to getting used to things. _Tryin'_, like Daryl had said. So he told her yes, and after some instructions on what to do if Sunny had a tantrum or got hungry, she left for her shift at the Clinic. It may have helped that Carol was there to help if he needed it.

"You guys kinda have the same nose," Carl observed. He'd come over earlier that day and was feeding Judith some kind of orange baby food. Sunny sat at the table munching on a peanut-butter and honey sandwich, chewing loudly but otherwise content with the day so far. He and Judith watched each other like they were aliens.

"Really? I don't see it."

"Carol?"

Carol turned from the stove and tilted her head. Her lips pinched together and she squinted. "Nope. Don't see it."

Carl frowned. "Hmph."

"Baby!" Sunny yelled. Judith blew stringy orange spit bubbles at him and he shrieked.

"They seem to be getting along great," Michael mumbled. Carl laughed.

* * *

That evening, Michael spent at least an hour getting ready, to his own annoyance.

He showered and brushed his hair and put on at least two coats of deodorant; he dressed in black pants, accompanied by a belt and a pair of leather boots that made him at least four inches taller. They had thick heels and were probably women's but he liked them enough to not care. When it came to the shirt, however, he struggled; he ran through the house, searching for something good enough, until he came across a white button up - there was some kind of fern-like design with red outlines spread across the fabric and a black trim. Whatever it was, it looked cool, so Michael quickly slipped it on and tucked the front behind his belt. He went back to the bathroom where Maggie was putting bobby pins in her hair. He fumbled with a tie, huffing and puffing and almost just giving up and throwing it to the ground until Maggie said, "Here, darlin'," and reached over to finish it for him.

"Thanks…" he mumbled. Maggie pressed her lips together, then raised an eyebrow.

"You get taller overnight?"

Michael held up a foot. "Boots."

Maggie looked at them. "Huh. They look good."

Michael thanked her and then turned to the mirror, fussing over his hair again. When he was done, having fussed as much as he could, he and Maggie stared at their reflections.

"She would've liked this," Michael said. He didn't say her name but Maggie knew who he was talking about. She smiled, a sad little crinkle in her face that made him think of his mother.

"Yeah. She would've." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "C'mon. We don't wanna be late."

They left the house with Glenn, Abraham and Rosita and walked in a tight cluster to Deanna's. Others were arriving, too; the Andersons, the Chopras, Barbara and her children, O'Hara and his girlfriend, Stacy, the Smiths, Carter and Jenna, the DeWitts, Gordon and Debra Richards. Slowly but surely others began trickling into the party until Deanna's house bustled with a life Michael hadn't seen since before the end of the world. Rick, Carl and Judith arrived with Carol a few moments after them, then Tara with Eugene and Noah. Even Amelia showed up, wearing an azure sundress with her hair tied up, bringing along an adorably-dressed Sunny. They mingled and swirled in with the citizens; they spoke of useless things like sharing recipes and politics before the Fall and relationships then and now. Michael tried his best to keep up with it all, even listening to Ms. Niedermeyer bitch and moan about not having a pasta maker. He excused himself once he saw a break in the conversation.

He swam through the crowd and kept as calm as he could. All the conversations were so… mundane. Meaningless.

"I've been trying to get those herbs to grow right but they just keep-"

"You can't be serious! You voted for _Romney?_"

"It's just so _hard _getting the ingredients together - making pasta isn't as simple as it looks, you know-"

"Did you ever come across any celebrities while you were out there? Imagine meeting Tom Cruise in the middle of a Costco! Ha!"

Barbara told a cluster of women she wished a dentist would show up at Alexandria's gates. A woman named Maya asked Michael what his favorite food was; he told her cheeseburgers and politely excused himself, even though that was most definitely not his favorite meal.

O'Hara, Tobin and Bruce talked to Abraham and Rosita about construction. Tobin bitched about how tiring it could be working out under the sun "all day long." Rosita held a glass of wine, probably her second that night, and Abraham looked like he wanted to crush the beer bottle in his hand. Either nobody noticed it or they ignored it for the sake of the night.

Carl and his new friends, Ron and Mikey, played cards at one of the tables near the kitchen. They invited him over but he declined in favor of hunkering in a corner for a bit. Briefly, he wondered where the older teenagers were - wouldn't they relish in a night like this? From what Michael knew, teens loved parties.

Throughout all of it, Michael looked for Daryl. He never found him, and while part of him wasn't surprised that Daryl had decided to skip the party, Michael felt more on edge not having him there.

Michael gave up trying when Charlyne commented on how "exotic" his skin looked and asked him where he was from.

As he was about to leave, Michael stopped at the liquor table. He'd tried and he deserved a damn drink for that; before he could settle on something, someone leaned against the table beside him.

"Not a fan of small talk and sandwich swords?" she asked. Michael looked over and there stood a girl, tall and pretty with olive-brown skin. Her face was almond shaped, cheeks and jawline sharp, and her hair reached down to her shoulders, curly but soft looking, and she had a look in her eyes that Michael couldn't decipher.

"Not really," he murmured, fingers sifting through empty bottles of liquor to try and find one that hadn't been drained. The stranger watched him.

"I'm Julian."

Michael looked over at her again. Julian was staring at him, smiling like he was the funniest thing in the world, and he said, "Michael."

"Michael," Julian repeated. She said it a couple more times, as if she were getting used to it, then snapped her fingers and grinned. "Looking for anything in particular, or are you avoiding the oldies talking about stupid shit?"

Michael blinked at her.

"Let me guess - Shelly wants a pasta maker, Stacy's in love with O'Hara, the communists won after all?"

Julian smiled again and Michael almost smiled back.

"Both, I guess," Michael finally answered, moving an empty Jack Daniels aside to see an unopened wine bottle. He could have cheered.

"Congratulations," Julian said, "you found one half of what you're looking for. Wanna find the other?"

They watched each other. Julian didn't wait for an answer before tugging down on Michael's sleeve. "C'mon. Let's go to the afterparty."

"Isn't the afterparty supposed to be… y'know… _after _the party?"

Julian laughed. "Yeah, sometimes. This one's special, though. You in?"

Michael stared at her, the neck of the wine bottle clutched in his grip. He watched Julian's eyes for anything dangerous; he found nothing of the sort. Despite the skepticism rumbling in his gut, itching for the switchblade in his boot, Michael nodded toward the front door.

"Lead the way."

Julian smiled and then they were off.

She led Michael out of Deanna's when nobody was looking, sneaking past a drunk Aiden (who was flirting with Holly quite embarrassingly) and down the front steps until they were on the sidewalk.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked, holding the wine like it was a baby. Julian turned to him.

"Neon Heaven," she answered with a wicked grin, her teeth shining bright against the moonlight, and after doing a slow twirl in the middle of the street she continued to lead Michael through Alexandria.

* * *

" _bigmouth strikes again,_

_and i've got no right to take my place_

_with the human race… "_

* * *

**notes: thank you to those who left reviews, sent private messages, or just simply added another number to the views. the kind words mean the world to me.**

**in an update for chapter fifteen of **_**A World Alone, **_**the previous book in this series, i have elaborated more on Michael's ethnicity as a few people have been confused about it ( to nobody's fault but my own, since i really didn't explain it much as i didn't have a good grasp on what he **_**did**_ **look like besides being a person of color with native american heritage ) but the short answer is that he is Pacific Islander on his father's side and Native American/white on his mother's. hope this explanation helps!**

**all my love,**

**damp**


	9. Nine: Lover's Spit

**Chapter Nine: Lover's Spit**

" _all these people drinking lover's spit_

_swallowing words while giving head_

_they listen to teeth to learn how to quit_

_but they take some hands and get used to it… "_

* * *

Julian took him all the way to the Brownstones. Doorside lamps lit their way inside and up the stairwell, going to the very top of the four story building. Up here was the half-unfinished top floor of the Brownstones that hadn't any inhabitants - well, at least any permanent ones. "What's up here?" Michael asked. Julian just continued down a dimly lit hallway, decorated by glow-in-the-dark neon paint splatters.

"You'll see."

Untrusting, but curious, Michael followed.

The first thing Michael heard was music. At the other end of the floor was a large open space, decorated in streamers and overhead artificial blue and purple lights and splashes of the same neon paint from the hall. Plastic tarps lined the floor and sheets hung from the walls, neon designs adorning them, surrounding a cluster of people who looked to all be around his age; they sat spread around on chairs, a sofa, some random furniture that somehow fitted the room's aesthetic. Michael recognized some of them as onlookers of the fight yesterday.

"Welcome to Neon Heaven," Julian grinned, stretching out her arms as she strode into the room. "Guys, this is Michael."

The group, made up of four other young adults, all gave their own hellos. Michael waved in response, a bit sheepishly, and he followed Julian and sat at a small armchair by himself. In the middle of the group was a big, blue lamp that could have been a campfire of sorts. Looking across from him, Michael realized Noah was there, too - someone else must have brought him along. He looked as uncomfortable as Michael probably felt.

"Michael," Julian said, taking a seat at a topaz-blue sofa, "this is Adrian-"

A younger guy, closest to Michael's age, ran a hand over his afro and smiled. "Sup."

"Paola-"

An asian girl with dyed blonde hair, sitting with her legs on Adrian's, lifted up a hand and wiggled her fingers at Michael. "Hey, hon!"

"And Higgs."

A pale guy with buzzed hair held up a hand. In the dim light, Michael saw that a patch of the left side of his face was darkened red, as if someone had dripped wine across his cheek - once Michael realized it was a birthmark, he looked away. In a brief moment of clarity he remembered Higgs being one of the onlookers of the fight. Had they all seen it? Did they think that Michael or the others had somehow instigated it?

"And you obviously already know Noah."

Paola got up from the couch, twirling around and swinging her hips back and forth to the music. "Do you dance, Michael?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Not really."

"Well you're boring," she said, and though Michael knew it was a tease it didn't much feel like it.

"Don't mind Pao," Julian said, biting the rim of a cup that had somehow materialized in her hand. "She's had a bit too much to drink."

Paola gasped. "Have not!"

"_O_-kay…"

"Anyways!" Adrian clapped his hands together. "Onto fun things. Noah, Michael - tell us about yourselves."

Michael blanked. He met eyes with Noah across the room and he looked just as awkward as Michael felt.

"Well…" Noah said first, sparing Michael the embarrassment of tripping over his own words, "I'm from Richmond. Grew up in one of those brick-fenced, gated communities, went to school, watched the world end from the living room window."

Julian sat on the floor in front of the couch, and almost immediately Higgs had reached down to start playing with her hair, as if it were second nature. Michael figured they were together, for some reason. He poured wine into a solo cup and sipped from it, pulling his feet up onto the armchair.

"Home of the Kickers," Adrian said.

Noah smiled tightly.

"Michael?" Paola asked. "What about you?"

He drank more wine and forced a shrug off his shoulders. "Not much to tell. I'm… just a regular guy."

That was who he was trying to be. Someone that blended into a crowd; someone who was unnoticeable. Talking to so many people in one night was exhausting him, and a part of him felt like shrinking into the cushions of the arm chair.

Yet he didn't.

"Well how do y'all like it here so far? Alexandria?"

"It's good," Noah said. Michael nodded along with him.

"Big."

The night went on. Conversations continued. Michael drank, the moon passed over the sky. The more he sipped on the wine and continued refilling his cup, the less he wanted to leave and the more he wanted to stay. He'd had too much alcohol to be worried about much of anything

"But where are y'all from?" Noah asked, glancing around their new friends.

_Are we all friends now? _Michael thought, finishing off his third cup.

"Halifax," Paola sing-songed as she plopped onto a seat beside Adrian.

"Virginia Beach, baby," Adrian said.

"Higgs and I are from Somerset, in Kentucky," came from Julian, who had her head rested against Higgs's knee.

"So you guys were dating before?" Michael asked, the cup pressed against his lip, and Paola let out a laugh. Julian snickered, Adrian grinned and even Higgs had a tiny smile on his face. Michael's face started to burn.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self conscious and nervous and shy all over again.

"Higgs is my foster brother," Julian explained. Michael felt his cheeks get warm.

"Oh… right."

"Don't worry," Higgs said, the first thing Michael had heard from him all night - in a surprisingly deep southern drawl. "People thought the same back when we got here."

"Then when we said we were siblings…" Julian laughed. "Man, you shoulda seen the looks on their faces."

The music faded away with his embarassment as Michael nodded. For a moment, it was silent, until a new song started.

"Alright, ladies and gents, how about a game of truth or dare?" Adrian said, slipping down from the couch and sitting on the floor. Paola twisted, turning herself upside down with her legs on the back of the couch, her long hair splayed out over the cushions. Michael shrugged and the others gave their own yeses and nods of approval.

Adrian smiled. "Julian?"

"Truth," Julian said. She sipped from a bottle of beer, then finished it off before tossing it across the rug.

"Out of everyone in the room, who's the first person you'd sacrifice to save the others?"

Julian thought for a moment. "Myself, I guess."

"Can't be yourself…"

"Then you, Adrian," Julian said, smiling at him sarcastically.

"Oh, my heart."

"My turn." Julian looked around the room before her eyes settled on Paola.

"Truth or dare, babe."

"Dare!"

It went on like this for a few minutes - Paola drank a mix of vodka, Blue Moon and fireball, Noah told them his greatest fear (getting torn apart by the dead, after which everyone drank some more), Adrian shouted - well, rather slurred - curses into the Alexandria night, and Higgs said that Noah was his least favorite person in the room.

"No offense," Higgs said, "I just… y'know. Don't know you yet."

Noah shrugged and Michael could tell he wasn't too bothered by it. Or maybe he was too drunk to notice - was he even drunk?

"Michael," came his name. He looked up. Higgs and the others watched him expectantly.

"Yeah?"

"Truth or dare?" Higgs asked.

His palms itched. The fire in his belly bit him.

"Truth."

Higgs pulled his knee up and wrapped an arm around it.

"Worst thing you ever done?"

That was the moment Michael decided that he wanted to disappear inside himself. He was going to snap his fingers and bend his body so that the others couldn't see him - they would wonder where he went but would forget, eventually.

Possible answers to that question darted around his skill. A greasy hand squeezed his spine.

_I killed someone who didn't deserve it._

_I didn't kill someone who deserved it._

_I didn't save my girlfriend._

And finally,

_I let my brother die, and turn, and never put him down._

Michael smiled, broken and trembling, then stood up. "It's getting late. I should go."

Before they could protest, he turned and left and didn't even bother to grab his wine.

The trip downstairs was quick - he passed the neon paint, through other unfinished rooms and apartments, until he was leaving through the small lobby doors and down the brownstone steps.

Just as he got to the darkened street, the door behind him opened and someone called out, "Wait!"

Michael froze. He fought the urge to keep going. For some reason, he did wait, despite it being Higgs who'd yelled for him.

"Hey," he said, jogging up to him, stopping just two feet short of barreling into Michael like a lanky quarterback. "Look- I'm sorry 'bout that. I… I shouldn't've asked you that question. It ain't mine or nobody else's place. I'm not the smartest when it comes to… people stuff."

Higgs stood taller than Michael by a lot - probably six or seven inches - but somehow he felt equal to him now. Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was the real remorse on Higgs's face, and the way he held himself under the cold moonlight.

"It's… fine," Michael finally said. He didn't really know if it was, but this felt like the right thing to say.

"No, I-"

"Really," he interrupted. He was tired. Drunk, maybe. Probably. Ready for bed. "Don't worry about it."

Higgs's shoulders slumped a bit, but Michael pretended not to notice it.

"I'm guessin' you won't be comin' back if I asked?"

Michael shook his head. "I should head back to the house. Don't want the others to worry too much."

Higgs looked like he wanted to say something else. The door opened again; Noah came out this time. Higgs locked eyes with him one last time.

"I'm sorry, again. Y'all have a good night."

Michael nodded. His stomach stirred. Higgs went back into the Brownstones and Noah joined him out on the road.

"Hey," Noah stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You okay?"

He shrugged. Michael felt warmth spread through his body, course down one leg faster than the other, and he turned to leave for home. Noah followed.

"What do you think of them?" Michael asked after a couple of minutes, kicking at a pebble. It must have been past midnight - Deanna's house was dark as they passed it, with nobody else in sight. Michael wondered if they would get reprimandings when they got home.

"I think… they're cool. Fun. Paola and Adrian are… a bit much."

Michael laughed.

"Yeah. Paola is something."

"Julian, though. She's cute."

"She is," Michael said. It felt weird, talking like this, like they were just two friends walking down the road after a night of drinking and stupid party games. A dog barked somewhere in Alexandria and Michael jumped.

"She talked about you a lot."

"Julian?"

Noah shook his head.

"Nah, man. Beth."

Michael ignored the ache that pulsed in his chest at the mention of her name.

"Back at Grady," Noah continued, "she mentioned y'all a few times - but definitely you. Said she was gonna fight to see all of you again." Noah looked up at the sky, then back down as if something had caught his eye.

"She was pretty stubborn," Michael muttered.

"Yeah," Noah said, his voice airy and thick with intoxication. "She was."

They finally arrived at 101 and 99. Both houses had rooms that were still lit, though for the most part, they were dark and most of the tenants had probably gone to sleep. Noah parted away from Michael as he made his way to the steps of 101.

"See you tomorrow, Mich."

"You, too. Eat a tomato, by the way - it'll help with the hangover."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "Good to know. G'Night."

"Night."

Noah went in. Michael continued all the way to 99, went up the steps, then had the door open when he saw a familiar silhouette pressed against the porch railing.

"You weren't at the party," Michael said, turning to face Daryl. He was smoking, a knee pulled up as an armrest for his elbow. Daryl let smoke puff out from his nose before blowing away the rest. Michael went to go sit beside him.

"Wasn't my thing."

"Yeah," Michael exhaled. "Me neither."

Beyond the smell of cigarette smoke, he caught a whiff of something else; shampoo? Cologne that wasn't his own? Michael realized that Daryl _had _gotten ready for the party. He'd showered and dressed up enough to be called presentable, but he hadn't even walked through the front door.

Michael considered asking him why.

"You got back late," Daryl said.

"Sorry…"

Daryl shook his head. "Don't be."

The air around them moved, or maybe it was just Michael's head swimming.

"What if I can't do this?" he said, parting the silence and pulling his knees up to his chest. "There's… so much here. Too much. What if-"

"You can," Daryl interrupted. He looked at Michael. "You will."

Michael let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Okay."

* * *

" _You know it's time_

_That we grow old and do some shit_

_I like it all that way_

_I like it all that way… "_

* * *

**Notes: wanted to clarify that this version of the song is a cover by Chris Rubeo. freaking love it. i have specific people in my head that i'm kinda basing a couple of these new character's off, and if anyone's curious i'm welcome to tell you in private messages. for now i'd rather let y'all imagine it. :)**

**bunches of love, always.**

**-damp**


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